Gates of Bronze and Bars of Iron
by iCe
Summary: Dean realizes that staying in Heaven and catching endless fish isn't living up to its hype. Especially since the gates of Heaven are still closed and there are no angels to guide you in the hereafter. Castiel is surviving Earth, fallen and human, until a reaper brings his attention to a hunt forcing him to seek out his fallen brothers.
1. Baptism

**Gates of Bronze and Bars of Iron  
**A DCBB 2014 submission

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Since this is a big bang, it comes with art. For the art post of this fic please proceed to bluesyundertone. livejournal. com [slash] 1615. html (without the spaces, and with / instead of [slash] because ff.n is bad about censorship like that.) She's a wonderful artist so please encourage her art and comment on the artwork (especially if you liked the story, but especially if you liked the art!) at her LJ account. The cover for this fic that you see displayed here is her work, don't forget to drop a line.

Alright, before we start this baby, I'd really like to thank a lot of wonderful people who made this happen:

Eliza Ye - who has a very very strong Dean voice, a great beta and helped me with a lot of the canon in the fic, and with the headaches of the capitonyms. I have been a fan of her _My Name is Castiel__, _since forever. (I'm looking forward to reading Reapers and your DCBB! :D and the TFWBB too)

Lady Lini - who finished betaing the entire story in a few days, and was really instrumental in the ending of the fic (I would have all stuck you with chapter 13 as an ending if it wasn't for her, so give her a warm shout out once you realize how awful that would have been). I was also very close to panicking when I thought I might not get a beta because I don't know anyone in the fandom when she took me on.

The Hope Lions - who was one of the alphas of the fic, pointed out some very confusing things for readers, was instrumental in naming one of the important minor characters, and was also very helpful with the stumbling block of the ending scene

Johin - was really helpful with the Spell and its counterspell. She was the reason I got over all of my writer's block. She doesn't even watch Supernatural and she'd just answer random questions that went: _if you were a super-powered angel douchebag... what would you..._ :D Congratulations on getting married and I'm still jet lagged, twerp.

All of them could be found in so you can go and search for their ff.n pages.

Whatever errors that remain are mine, and these wonderful people have tried their best to kick this baby into shape.

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**Disclaimer:** _Supernatural_ is property of _WarnerBrothers_ and _the CW,_ and is the brainchild of Erik Kripke. All use of the characters and their lines from the series is unauthorized. I am merely borrowing them for a time, and will return them (a little bit worse for wear, but functional) promptly.

This is an alternate canon (or a divergence for all of those who classify it that way... I can't aptly name it alternate universe). It was conceptualized and was written on the hellatus between Season 8 and 9 and was continued to be written alongside of the 9th season. The series diverges at the ending of Season 09x09 _Holy Terror_ but you'll find some easter eggs from season 9 here and there.

This fic was **Inspired by:** These are Not Real Problems by **dachinchilla**

Opening credits done. Here's Chapter 1.

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**Chapter 1: Baptism**

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Driving around little pockets of Heaven wasn't like driving around Earth. While Earth was defined by rules that were mapped out, like gravity and time, Heaven's rules were defined by the person whose space you currently occupied.

So though there was a road, because Dean always had a road open to him and that much was _his_ definition of Heaven, there were pockets of Heaven that you couldn't reach by driving. Then there were areas of Heaven that you could only access by doing certain things in a certain order, or there were areas in Heaven that gave you a mandatory waiting period out in their driveway unless they invited you in.

Some people who'd mapped out some areas of this tract that they now called home said that it was easier when the angels were present. Heaven's roads were not built to be patrolled by humans, and angels had been able to travel its air streams smoothly. Dean didn't know about that; he'd reached Heaven after Metatron's Spell, so he didn't really know anything other than his current existence.

It was just one reason why Metatron's plan to completely kick everyone out had been such a douchebag move. He made it so there was no one to call for help except what could pass for elders in this place. Even then, even though hunters were a close-knit community on Earth, Heaven was made to be isolated.

As always, it was Ash who found him first. Ash's perpetually stoned look was offset by the wide grin he had when he found Dean and opened the passenger side of the Impala to ride.

"You are _not_ writing Enochian on my baby," Dean warned as he shifted gears, eyeing the chalk that Ash held with his fingers, bypassing the usual means of travel so they could move around Heaven smoothly.

"That was one time, and we were running from what passes for Heaven in the land of the crazy," Ash said good-naturedly, tugging his long cape into the passenger side. "Are we passing by Bobby's?"

Dean shook his head; anything Bobby related at this point would just be visiting family, and there was time enough for that later, when they had gotten what they'd come for. "You sure this girl—Ysa—wants out?"

"Suicide attempt in Heaven," Ash said solemnly, looking out the window. Dean gripped his steering wheel tight. Heaven was about contentment, and pre-Spell, (as most of the long-term inhabitants called it) an angel would have noticed the signs of someone wanting _out_ before something like this happened.

He popped in the cassette for _Stairway to Heaven_ and let its soft melody fill the car, letting the song fill in the small talk that seemed obligatory for such a trip.

oOo

_Dean hefted the small pistol that his dad had given him during his first successful hunt. The colt was a familiar weight in his hands, the nickel well-worn by use from his father's earlier cases. He was trying to train to shoot the gun faster, but he still couldn't quite get the aim, and when he tried to shoot target to target the second shot always veered slightly to the right. His father had always told him to train his eyes more than his body for speed. The body would always go where the eyes fell._

"_It's more important to be accurate than to be fast," John reminded Dean as he finished another round of speed shots. The target board was already riddled with holes, signifying an end to Dean's drills. John gave a small jerk of his head to indicate that Dean should refill the boards, and then he fixed his attention on Sam. "Come on then, Sammy, your turn on the block."_

_Sam walked up slowly to the area that Dean vacated as John handed Sam his weapon. Dean had worked hard when he chose that weapon from his dad's cache, carefully sizing up the guns with Sam's hand and shooting empty to check the recoil. He had asked John if they could delay Sam's shooting lessons until after high school, but John had been adamant. Dean had fired a gun when he was six, he had learned shortly after that. They were in the hunting business. Hunters learned young. Twelve was old enough. The targets replaced, Dean walked back into place, where John and Sam were waiting for him._

"_So, Sammy, Dad told me to give you this talk," Dean said, kneeling down to look Sam in the eye. The rules, as it were. "Always treat the gun like it's loaded. Always keep your gun pointed in a safe direction, unless you want to shoot it. Keep your trigger finger off the trigger unless you're gonna use it. And always be sure of your target. Got it?"_

"_The gun is deadly and serious. Don't shoot anything human," Sam summed up as he tried to imitate Dean's stance. Dean smiled, ruffled Sam's hair, and adjusted him a little before telling him to relax and assume the position again._

"_Okay, before you do any shooting, it's really important that you get the muscle strength to keep that posture so that you can handle the gun and the recoil properly," Dean commented as he adjusted Sam's arm again. "So you have to practice holding this a couple of times a day while you're doing homework and—"_

"_You know, I was going to sit back, relax, and watch you go through your axis mundi, what, is this the fifth time around?" The smooth drawl interrupted his lecture, and Dean straightened up to come face to face with his personal reaper. He raised his eyebrows. "Seriously, teaching your brother to become the next Patrick Bateman was not one of my top ten things Dean Winchester would relive."_

_Dean frowned at her, breaking away from the parody of Sam listening raptly at him and John, whose face he hadn't been paying attention to before, had broken into the small proud smile that Dean wished his father had shown more when he had been alive. "I thought I'd been through the Greatest Hits before. You'd have watched. It should be a recurring theme. Go away, it's only my second time remembering this."_

_She snorted as she waved her hand, motioning at the ongoing scene. "You change as you grow, Dean. Your version of the events on the axis mundi changes as your priorities and personality change. Sam and you burning the field down, your mother with PB&amp;J, these will always be constant, but _this_ wasn't here before."_

_John's face changed as they noted the darkening clouds. "Looks like an early evening for us, son." John threw the Impala's keys over to Dean, which he caught. "Let's put your driving skills to the test and go to that movie Sam has wanted to see."_

"_It was a documentary. Boring as hell. Should have known it when Sam picked it. But it was one of those times that the three of us actually—enjoyed each other's company," Dean said as he pocketed the car keys, took Sam's hand, and loped his other arm around his father's shoulder. John stiffened momentarily, unused to the contact, as if this fragile thing would not last, but accompanied his boys to the Impala. _

_Maybe this was new because before now, Dean hadn't truly remembered the good times with John. He had tried, and he was a good son, but he hadn't thought about the good times in a long while._

_There was silence as he drove, John and Sam fading into the black as his baby followed the road of the axis mundi. The larger than life moon illuminated their path. Tessa easily took the place that John had vacated, filling the space with an expectant hush._

_The axis mundi this time around was still that asphalt road, but unlike last time, the moon shone brilliantly, casting everything in a lighter tone than the dark shadow that they had travelled the first time around. Or maybe it was the difference between being hunted by Zachariah the first time and the almost relaxed pace today._

oOo

With Ash's directions, they reached Ysa's heaven quickly. One moment, they were driving down an asphalt road, the next they were in a library. Dean looked up and saw floors and floors of books with a wide open center and a large sky light illuminating a large bed with a girl propped up, lost in a smallish paperback which looked like it was a cross between an angel falling and a teen romance flick.

The girl was all light and shining, with blond hair and light green eyes making her look even younger than the fifteen her soul was manifesting. She didn't show signs of the suicide, but most suicides in Heaven didn't show wear and tear of their bodies. She closed her book with a snap when she noticed that she wasn't alone and regarded them wearily.

"I get it already; there's no death here." She shrugged, her blond hair slipping from the ponytail that she had gathered it into when she had time to think about appearances. "No need to lecture me about it."

Dean's eyebrows rose in question as he looked at Ash. That wasn't the usual response when he visited. It was Heaven; there wasn't anyone who meant you _harm_ when they visited, but these souls were usually so fresh that they forgot that Heaven and Earth didn't follow the same rules.

Ash mouthed, "grandmother," before he turned back to her. "No lectures, here; I just thought you'd want to talk to the Righteous Man. He might have what you're looking for." He scratched the back of his neck when she shrugged. "I'm going to go check out the sci-fi section until you're done."

"Ninth floor. Watch out for the Enterprise hanging from the ceiling," Ysa directed, nodding towards the small elevator hidden behind rows and rows of books. It was Heaven; there was nothing to do but share space and be proud of the little niche that you'd carved out of wants and light.

With a low whisper of "cool," Ash went over and scrambled into the elevator, leaving Dean alone with the teen. At least, she looked like a teen; age was hardly relevant here, and she could totally still be older than him. People in Heaven were given the shape of the body they felt most comfortable in. It was confusing at times.

She motioned for him to sit in a reclining chair that she probably spent hours on. They sat there in front of each other, because Dean didn't have any ideas on how to start this conversation, apart from, 'So you decided to slit your wrists—' and he felt that it was a poor way to start rapport.

"I had fun building my heaven, you know," she confided as she followed the elevator's light, tracking Ash's progress. The elevator was made of glass and overlooked all the books that she had read. It was reminiscent of Metatron's own hotel room, but grander because it wasn't in the mortal plane. "I thought that if I had this one thing that I'd loved since I was a child, I wouldn't mind waiting for my mom and my dad here."

"Yeah, I keep busy with my car and fishing, waiting for Sammy—that's my brother," Dean said in the low, steady voice that he used to use to prevent a twitchy victim from bolting.

She hummed noncommittally, looking at Dean and finding that maybe she wasn't alone in this after all. "How did you die?"

It was rude of her to ask. It was an unspoken rule that the citizens of Heaven did not talk of what they had lost, because that was too painful for this place. It was like asking outright how old you were, or who you voted for president, but more personal, and with more baggage. "Hunting accident, wasn't pretty."

It was more than that, really, but the truth wasn't what she was asking for.

Ysa closed her eyes and leaned on her headboard. "I was running from something. I can't really remember, it's been so long and this place is one big—" she waved her hand, unable to find the right words, so Ysa just shrugged and gave a small smile. "I got strapped down and taken, and the next thing I knew, I was here. I was a teenager."

Sometimes death memories were difficult to mesh with moving on and coping. So souls forgot, just so they could have their temporary sanity. So that they could be happy.

She opened her eyes slowly and gave him a look that felt like she was trying to understand. "It was all right for a while. The people here, they care for you in a way that you don't expect on Earth, and there's surprising kindness in people." She sounded like she hadn't experienced kindness back when she was alive.

"But that's not enough for you anymore," Dean supplied, because no one chose to die in Heaven, and risk being doomed to Hell without thinking twice.

"My parents died." In Heaven, you need only to wait for so long as you can bear before your loved ones came to see you. "Our heavens are propped around each other, but I'm not part of their soul bond. Their heaven, it's not built around mine. I'm envious of that." She smiled sadly. It was watery and tinged with a small amount of shame.

"I was fifteen when I died. That's barely half a life lived. Not even half by most people's standards. I want to live, love, create something. I want to write my own story, and barring that, then maybe I want to forget even for a little while that there's more than _this_." She pressed a fist against her chest. Like there was a hole that she'd managed to fill with the endless stories. Stories that she'd read about in the books that she filled her heaven with. Stories that weren't hers.

For all the contentment that Heaven provided, sometimes its citizens realized that it was _life_ itself that they could not do without. And that was one thing that Heaven could not give, its pockets filled to the brim with old souls. Sometimes, after the souls "let go," something reminded them of their old lives, and that was when they lost the simple joys that Heaven had to offer. They began to yearn for something different—for _new_ life, for that never-ending happiness—and the most Heaven could offer was an illusion.

"There's a way to fall from Heaven," Dean said slowly, looking at her straight in the eyes. He had a unique perspective of the afterlife, probably because he was the only person who'd been to Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven for more than one day, actually lived through them and remembered them. "I could bring you there."

"Fall?"

There it was, the inevitable fear. For all that Heaven was repetitive and its boundaries limited by one's imagination and the repository of souls it held, it also promised lack of suffering. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Not the best way to talk to a non-angel. "There's a way to be reborn. Not every soul is brand-spanking new."

"Oh…" There was a small glint in her eyes that reflected hope, dulled by a small, wistful look that she threw around the large room that was filled with stories. "Grandma will be so disappointed if I leave."

"She's your grandmother. She's the one who told Ash you wanted out." Because it was Heaven, and its residents were nothing if not generous.

"Could I say good-bye?" There was a small tremble in her voice that signified tears, and a smattering of rain offset the bright sun that was shining through the large skylight. Her sky was doing the crying for her.

When he'd been alive he would have said, "Sure, kid." But he'd learned that some people didn't take kindly to that when they'd been living as a preteen for forty years. Children, they were easy to please; they never grew tired of the happiness of Heaven. The teenagers were the ones who were blessed and cursed with ever-changing wants, impossible emotions and unfulfilled desires. Imagine realizing after forty years, a hundred, that you had unfinished business. Too late to become a ghost and stuck behind the impenetrable Gates of Heaven.

"Take all the time you want," he allowed as she stood up shakily. She brushed her hands against the small bookshelves that were closest to her bed, books dog-eared from previous reads and well-loved. She pulled out a small book from one of the lower shelves. The cover featured a picture of a tower with the word _Rapunzel_ printed in script above it.

A door parted, with the very loud clicking and unmistakable turning of gears, until the bookshelf was a doorway leading to a garden path showing what Dean guessed to be her grandmother's house. Maybe she even had time to say goodbye to her parents.

"I'll be back," she whispered before she stepped through and the doorway closed.

oOo

_The road ended abruptly at a wide asphalt driveway, beyond that was a sprawling lawn complete with the standard pine tree, nicely tended bushes, and a house painted in blue. Dean's heart constricted with remembered pain as he stepped onto the driveway._

_Ben was waiting by the porch with a baseball and a catcher's glove, idly twisting and tossing a ball in the air, eyes lighting up when he heard Dean's boots hitting one of the creaking porch steps. Dean had never gotten around to fixing it, while he was living with Lisa._

_Dean tugged the bill of the boy's cap, eyes twinkling playfully. _

_"Mom's up in her room, curled under the blankets. It's that time of the month." Ben sighed in miserable sorrow, knowing that Dean would show concern for his mother first, rather than play. It was that protective instinct that Dean worked to instill in Ben._

_Dean looked up the stairs and frowned. "Go fill the kettle with water. We can grab some ice cream and play catch in the park later, after your mom is settled."_

_Dean took the steps to Lisa's bedroom at a slow trudge, trying not to make excessive noise. He reached the room, noting that the curtains were drawn to keep the sun out, the thermostat on the highest bearable setting. Lisa was on the bed and seemed to be asleep until Dean sat down beside her, smoothing down sweat-damp hair. She moved restlessly, trying to find a comfortable position, and smiled up at him weakly._

_"Hey," Dean whispered gently, his hands moving from her head to rub soft circles against her back in small comfort. "It's a particularly bad month, huh?"_

_Lisa groaned, looking at him balefully from under the blankets. "I hate cramps. They were supposed to get better after pregnancy, but..." she trailed off as she leaned towards him._

_"I'll go get you warm tea with honey," Dean decided as he pulled away from the bed, brushing the last tendril from her face and giving her a reassuring smile. "I'll be right back."_

_Lisa just threw the covers over her head again, ostensibly trying to go back to sleep despite the promise of a warm beverage._

_Once he reached the kitchen, Tessa was already there sitting on the counter, back braced against the cabinets. "So domestic, Winchester—I'm surprised. You really are a mother hen."_

_Dean had been taking care of Sam long before he remembered anything else. Taking care of people, that was second nature. It had always been his purpose, no matter what role he was thrust into, protector and nurturer had never left. "Fuck off, Tessa."_

_"I have seen really strange memories filling a soul's last moments before Heaven, but _your_ axis mundi..." Tessa trailed off as she watched him take one of the cups from the shelf, plastic and insulated because Lisa had a tendency to fall asleep still holding the cup. "Sam, your father, your mother, Lisa, Ben... you want a family."_

_He shot her a look of irritation. "I have a family, Tessa," Dean pointed out as he found the water Ben had prepared and stirred in a precise amount honey from a jar, measured against the tang of the ginger tea._

_Tessa frowned, tagging along after him as the road to Lisa's room opened to another field. Dean glanced back at the door in annoyance. Because these were memories, they could not be changed, and because of that unchanging character, Dean could not lay down roots and start building a new life—or afterlife. It was merely a layover towards whatever endpoint Heaven was supposed to have in store._

_"There are no new souls here, Dean," Tessa whispered as she stared into the vast field; this area represented another battle, another triumph. "This Heaven, it's a repository of souls, but it's not _life_. It was never meant to be a replacement for living. You can't make anything _new_ here."_

Dean jerked back from reminiscing to look back at the skylight. Rain was still pattering down against it, but it was starting to get dark. Taking all the time you wanted was risky in Heaven, because time was a construct of mortality, and souls were eternal. But this soul was eager to leave, and no matter how much she loved her grandmother, she would return sooner rather than later.

Ash had returned with a paperback copy of _Robotech_ and had settled down in one of the large beanbag chairs haphazardly strewn around the floor. Dean watched the sky. Usually, the souls returned to them when the sun set and bathed their corner of heaven in eternal night.

The wait was always the hardest, because waiting in someone else's heaven felt a little intrusive, like looking at someone else's soul. He was always thankful when the souls returned.

She returned with flowers curled around her hair—white orchids—which she self-consciously touched, a gift from her grandmother that she probably would have rejected, had it been offered on Earth. But they were in Heaven, there was really not much judgment to pass.

"The Righteous Man travels in a black classic car," Ash said helpfully, putting the book he was reading into one of the carts that held books for re-shelving, accommodatingly placed near the bed where Ysa would have stayed the longest. "We need something that will resonate with the car to travel."

"Ah," Ysa said as she scrunched her nose and tried to think of a place that would connect her heaven and Dean's bridge to all the rest of the world. "I read the Winchester Gospels once."

She motioned for them to follow. The _Supernatural_ series was lodged on the first floor, separate from all her favorite books, but still near enough for it to be something that she treasured. "I never thought I'd meet you."

She raised her eyes to meet Dean's, and she held up a book in her hands. Unlike most of her books, it was printed in legal sized bond paper, bound together with a soft glossy finish and covered with more cartoonish pictures than had been on the first published works. "Instant download and print from the web on my side of the world. _Dark Side of the Moon_ from Carver Edlund's unpublished works should work."

Finding a bridge from one heaven to the Impala had never been easier than it was Ysa's corner of the world. As soon as he held the manuscript, he was back in his beloved driver's seat, Ash to his right and Ysa behind him.

"Directions to the Garden, Ash?"

At least Becky's obsession with the series had given him something useful. She'd inadvertently helped by uploading all the books, even the unpublished ones, making it available to Ysa. One more reason not to find out what _Becky's_ heaven was like.

oOo

"_The last time we were here, the path led to the Cleveland Botanical Gardens." Dean looked at the roads, battered from use, peering across the thicket that hadn't seen human activity in what seemed to be ages. _

"_All roads in Heaven lead to the Garden, regardless of where you're headed." He looked at her, confused, and Tessa gave him an odd laugh. "You can still reach the Garden from the axis, but there are no angels. It's more of a forest than a cultivated backyard." She shrugged as she pointed back at the road._

_Dean had no business in the Garden, and they had only ever wanted to talk to Joshua because of Cas. Searching for an absent father wasn't one of his goals right now._

"_Everything in Heaven is as near or as far as you need it to be." _

The Garden was an ever-changing thing. But because Dean was here, and because Dean was the reason they were all here, it adopted the form that Dean was most used to.

The Garden was larger than life, the center where all the heavens connected. It was sprawling and largely un-navigated, because the humans had not been allowed entry since they were cast out of its gates, in the beginning of time. When Anna fell, someone else had taken the flaming sword's mantle and kept watch. Until the Scribe flung its caretakers out of Heaven, its gate had been guarded vigilantly.

Ysa followed Dean as he walked along the path, leading them to a large waterfall, bathed in ethereal light. It came from what had to be an impossibly high mountain and fell to an unending spray of white. Dean gave her time to take in the scenery, from the mountain to the large tree that dominated the entire Garden, its branches making a canopy for the rest. The Tree was a center point for all.

Though the tree was technically on top of the mountain, it felt less like the tree grew from the mountain and more like the mountain built itself up around the tree. From its branches sprouted thousands and thousands of blossoms of differing colors. The blossoms swayed with the wind and, when fully grown, fell into the shimmering, flowing water before dropping further into the white abyss that was the falls.

Dean laid a reassuring hand on Ysa's shoulder and led her to the water's edge, on a natural rock formation that was no harder on the knees than a church pew. He helped Ysa kneel, hands folded in prayer, before he turned back to the falls and cupped his hands to catch some water from it.

Ysa watched silently as he brought his cupped hands over her head and let the water trickle down softly to bathe the flowers that her grandmother had given her.

Once all the water was gone, the light from the falls intensified until it was almost blinding, bathing Dean and Ysa in white. Dean held her smiling face until he couldn't bear the sight and had to look away or be forced to go sightless for the remainder of his existence.

When he looked back at the rock, all that remained was a circle of white orchids.

"And this is my beloved—"

"Okay, Ash, quoting the Bible? Still one of the most disturbing things you do around me," Dean said, mildly irritated as he swept the orchids Ysa had left behind to hang among the tangled ivy that overgrew the rocks around the falls.

Ash grinned as he shook his head. "Sorry, man, it's just that you baptizing people to get reincarnated needs some solemnizing words."

Dean wouldn't have called it baptism, but he let Ash do most of the talking.

The Garden seemed lonely for all that it was a construct and the center of all known heavens. But it could tend itself, whether or not Joshua was here. Anyway, it wasn't as though Heaven's occupants were rambunctious punks who needed to be reminded to lay off government property.

Heaven's Garden could go untended for another day.

oOo

_Tessa smiled as they rode along the road. "Stage Four: Acceptance." _

"_I thought maybe your first reference would be the crazy Katy Perry song," Dean scoffed as they parked into an empty lot opening into the wide fields of Wyoming._

"_I'm surprised you even know who she is." '_The One That Got Away'_ was _clearly_ not Dean's music._

_Tessa rolled her eyes as they moved out over the dry grass at the old forgotten cowboy cemetery. She eyed the dark clouds roiling from the crypt as Dean leaned back against a tree, watching his father distract Azazel for him. He knew this script intimately, reached for the Colt and trained it on Azazel as he regained control over the body he'd been possessing._

_All of them watched as arcs of hellfire lit up Azazel's stolen body, spreading from the Colt-induced wound and killing him._

"_The final victory. Vindictive much?" Tessa asked as Azazel's lifeless form crumpled to the ground._

"_Not really," Dean murmured as he turned towards his father, tears streaming down his face. This was here not for Azazel, but for John. Affirmation, because that was what he'd been waiting for. John's love. John's last gift. The bright light that Dean couldn't close his eyes against, despite the burn. _

_Family, self-sacrifice, and deaths. Maybe that was the trinity that made up a Winchester male. _

_Dean scrubbed his face clean with the back of his hand. This was shorter than most of his other memories in the axis mundi, but as Tessa said, it was a victory. It was John telling them he loved them; it was reassurance that John was not left trapped behind the Gates of Hell. Dean walked towards the broken railroad, instinctively knowing where the next axis was. Tessa, the ever-vigilant shadow, followed._

"_Ain't there something else for you to do?" Dean asked roughly, fingering his father's leather jacket, one of his constant reminders of who he was and what his father had made him. He walked on the broken railroad as the day grew impossibly short, the tracks transitioning back into asphalt._

_Tessa shook her head. "The angels are locked out of Heaven. No one else is going to welcome you into your final pocket of virtual reality."_

_Dean stopped. Somehow, he hadn't really thought of that. He had been aware, of course, of Metatron's little rebellion. But he hadn't thought that this would be a repercussion. _

"_Azrael's garrison was stationed to help transition in this circle of Heaven," Tessa commented, waving her hand to indicate the rest of the plane they were in. Castiel's garrison had been tasked to look over human affairs as guardians and soldiers. Azrael, it seemed, was the angel of death. "I kind of miss them here."_

oOo

He was sprawled over Bobby's living room, propped up on the couch that he'd known intimately since his father had started leaving him in Bobby's care.

There was a big, widescreen TV in front of them—it looked like they were about to watch football. Every individual heaven had a way to look into those that you've left behind. Mostly, it was TV, but Ash says heavens occupied by souls present before the age of electricity have things like whirlpools and see through mirrors. It was all very _Sword and Sorcery_ like that.

Bobby usually invited Dean to watch with him because Dean watching Sam alone tended to get depressing. The time discrepancy between Heaven and Earth was more mercurial than it was between Heaven and Hell. There were no single time lines, and the abrupt time shifts kind of reminded Dean of fairy mounds and changelings, but what did he know?

When Dean got back from Hell, he'd done the math: a year in Hell was three days on Earth. But in Heaven, time passed as slow or as fast as you wanted it to. You could watch your loved ones slowly grow old beside you, or you could fast forward to all the good parts.

Bobby and him, they'd decided to keep to real time, having agreed that slowing down or moving faster than Sam's own timeline felt weird. Dean had already lived forty more years than his brother in Hell alone; he really didn't want to fast forward Sam to his death.

Karen was busy puttering in the kitchen, baking pie, which Dean thought was silly because she could just imagine it, and it would appear out of thin air. But she just laughed and shot down his suggestion, because apparently baking was a way of showing her love. What did _he_ know?

No one knew where John Winchester was, and so, no one knew where Mary was. Sometimes, Dean spent his time driving around the interstate, hoping that he'd see a sign that his parents were in this wilderness of memories, light and candy dreams. If they were here, they were too drunk on each other to care. He couldn't imagine his mom simply not caring, and he couldn't bear the thought that they were barred from Heaven, because seriously?

But Sam had to have gotten Lucifer's vessel's bloodline from somewhere, and they all knew that John was Michael's. Or maybe Sam hadn't inherited the bloodline—maybe it had been force-fed to him by Azazel, and Dean didn't want to think about that clusterfuck, because it was over, and there was no use going around in circles.

Dean put those thoughts away if only to keep his sanity. Ash had promised to look into it, and that was enough for Dean, because Ash was a genius, and his word was golden.

Dean threw a couple of kernels of popcorn at Sam's face inside the flat screen when he clenched the ring he'd kept inside his pocket for six frigging months, the coward. Dean seriously did not raise a brother who couldn't propose worth jack shit.

"Dean!" came Karen's warning tone, and Dean rose up to pick the kernels from the front of the screen.

Bobby was giving him a look that was bordering on a verbal idjit, but not quite there yet. Dean rolled his eyes, and they both decided that they'd had enough of Sam being wishy-washy for the moment. Bobby flipped the channel to watch real life football, because yes, you apparently could miss that lot when you were dead. And yes, Samantha's insecurities sometimes needed large doses of commercials to wash out.

Dean hesitated briefly before falling back into the couch heavily.

Bobby eyed him speculatively under the rim of his red cap, the one he wore when he was rooting for no particular team. "Did you want to watch someone else?"

"Nope. No one else." He hadn't watched anyone down below other than Sam because there were some things that he did not want to see if he couldn't be a part of them.

oOo

_Dean put down the now-useless cup beside the road, a slight roll of anxiety gripping him as he recognized this place—a lone forest at the peak of a rarely visited mountain in Colorado. Of all the scenes he thought he'd revisit, he hadn't thought that his death would be one of them. _

_His body went from tense to relieved as soon as he spotted Castiel sitting down, cradling something within the circle of his arms. He put it down, stood, and turned, gaze finding Dean unerringly._

_"Dean," he said with a small, bittersweet smile, one that he'd learned as a human and that Dean could never understand, "when you look back, when you see this, know that though I grieve, I also hope that you find comfort in my old home."_

_Cas had always been unfailingly selfless, and here he was, giving Dean a place of solace in a home forever barred from him. What little angel was left in Cas had sensed him in this final moment, and the axis mundi had allowed the angel a last farewell._

_Tessa gave the angel a small shake of the head as Castiel, who still looked out of place without his tan trench coat, turned back to what Dean could only assume was his lifeless body. "I seriously hope you prepared him well for being human," Tessa commented._

_Dean turned his focus toward his reaper, the extended pause asking his question for him. She gave him a small sad smile, oddly similar to the one Castiel had just given him. "You have friends, Dean, family, other people whom you've built foundations around. Castiel…"_

_She trailed off slowly, looking back at the angel, and yes, he _was_ an angel despite having lost his grace, because losing a part of yourself didn't mean that you were anything less. Castiel looked lost in the middle of the wilderness, holding the body that he'd once re-created whole._

"_He only had you."_


	2. Rebirth

**Chapter 2: Rebirth**

Castiel was sitting on his favorite bench, long worn from use, ignored by the humans who played in front of the park it overlooked. The humans moved around him, going on with their lives, mistaking him for one of them. But although he'd been torn from his grace and was not angelic at the moment, he'd never truly been human.

In this place where he had once confessed to the Righteous Man of one of his many sins, he came to accept that he was tired. The Song of his brethren that had once been a comforting lull in the background that connected him to their presence was now a vast reminder that, although he may be a part of them, he was certainly not one of them. He had lost his grace but not the Song. He could still hear angels but not the prayers. It was enough to drive one mad.

A small chill travelled up his spine, and an unnatural gust of wind and a thousand small whispers heralded the arrival of one of the agents of death. It was funny that as a mortal, he could still perceive the supernatural. It was true, what they said: once you saw it you could not simply un-see it.

Castiel and the reaper locked gazes as only immortals could with each other: patiently, endlessly, and without the need to blink. And because he had nothing to lose, Castiel asked in a voice that was filled with courage that he did not have: "Are you here to kill me?"

"Castiel." The voice was one of soft welcome and of coercion. Hearing that voice, Castiel could believe that it had lured a million souls to their final resting place. Castiel didn't even want to know how she had found him in the middle of the Midwest, but she was here, and the last time a reaper had found him, he had died. "We need your help."

Had he been what he once was, he would have gone without question. It was in his nature to help. But as Dean had taught him, it was his want to help that had landed him in this mess in the first place. She sensed his reluctance and moved forward to reach for his arm, but he instinctively pulled it away.

"I'm Tessa," she introduced herself, and once, it wouldn't have mattered to Castiel. Names were things that had power and most immortals never exchanged them with lesser beings. It was the humans and their constant want to describe things, in their need to be individuals, who had needed names.

"Dean's reaper," Castiel said slowly, recognizing her, remembering her now that she had introduced herself. He had been present in Dean's time of dying, after all, and he was well-versed in Dean Winchester.

She hummed in assent and took a seat beside him. Castiel shifted uneasily, because he had been looking forward to spending time alone, and this bench was a personal favorite, partly because he'd spent time here with the Righteous Man, but more so because it reminded him of his favorite heaven. "I'm unsure how I can help an agent of death. I am… currently without my grace."

"Oh, I knew that from the get go," she assured him, "I want to show you something."

With one last look at this moment of respite, aching to unfurl wings he did not have anymore, Castiel closed his eyes and nodded his assent. The former angel did not want to experience moving across space with eyes wide open as a human. He missed flight, and Castiel had learned that the ache of being empty was less felt when he was not reminded.

He opened his eyes in the middle of a hospital. He was familiar with hospitals because his charges were so often there. He noted the white letters announcing the nursery and the large viewing window allowing relatives to visit the newborns in their cribs.

However, there was a pall here, something that he Castiel did not expect in an area where there was usually much to rejoice about. He leaned against the glass and noted the empty nursery, which he supposed was what kept the wing lifeless. There was no wail of a newly born child, there was no cooing of relatives getting to know the newest addition of the family. In fact, the wing felt like it was in mourning.

Tessa leaned against the window, mimicking him. Castiel startled, and it was one of the things that he still had not grown accustomed to, that he could be startled now, that the unnatural stillness of a reaper could surprise him as it had not before.

"There is a soul, waiting to be born, Castiel."

There were in fact thousands of souls, millions of souls waiting to be born in this moment. A single cry in the middle of the long hallway was heard, and a nurse whipped her head to listen to the loud scream, a smile touching her face. As if it was a miracle that the halls produced a sound that should have been background noise. Castiel followed the nurse through the glass as she received the baby from the delivery room and placed it in the nursery. A small tear was in the corner of her eye. Miraculous, as if this birth was rare.

Castiel peered at the protesting baby and noted the flash of the newborn's soul. Shiny and bright it may be, but it held the tinge of experience. "An old soul."

But when he looked around, the reaper was already gone, leaving him in the middle of the nursery ward from the outside looking in. He was already starting to understand the disconcerting feeling humans had when one of their kind left without warning. Although Castiel understood how it felt to leave like that, it was another matter to be the one abandoned and waiting.

Another woman joined him at the viewing hall, peering in as the baby was bathed and clothed before being deposited to her crib. The nurse had wrongly assumed that he was an eager relative and had brought the baby over for viewing. The woman beside him clenched her hands at her sides her forehead pressed against the glass. The nurse gave the woman a small nod of acknowledgement, as if she was a regular at the viewing deck, before she put the baby down in her warmer.

Castiel noted that his companion wore a hospital gown and had a hospital tag around her wrist, a barcode and "29/F – Maternity Ward" printed in bold letters on it. Her small gasps fogged the glass in front of her. He could feel her quiet mourning, and his non-existent grace wanted to reach out.

Had he still been in possession of his wings, they would have curved out in comfort, and the muscles in his back strained to do just that. It was one of those things he missed about being a guardian, the little comforts that he offered. At least then, had he been impotent, he could still offer to carry this woman's pain.

She closed her eyes, as if bracing for the world of hurt before she said, "Is she yours?" Castiel looked around, but there was no one else in the lobby. So that could only mean the woman was addressing him. He frowned in consternation until she opened her eyes, looking straight at him. "The baby, is she yours?"

Castiel shook his head slowly. The woman visibly calmed herself and sat back down on the wheelchair that Castiel hadn't noticed she arrived in. "Did you lose a baby too?" she asked after a time.

"No, ma'am." The frown was still on his face because he did not understand what this woman was truly asking him. He did not see what the reaper had wanted him to see in this empty ward.

"Oh." There was a palpable ache that Castiel could not fail to respond to. Had the reaper wanted him to feel this much more devastated about his lost grace and more alien in his human skin that he could not ease a soul who was in so much pain?

Castiel stood there awkwardly. "Did you—" he paused, because tact was not something he had known as an angel and was something he was still learning. Humans got so offended and hurt by many things, and he as an angel had been poorly equipped to understand them. He changed his question mid-sentence and began again, "What did you name yours?"

"Holly." She smiled in remembrance, and although there was pain there, there was also an amazing capacity for strength. "I wasn't able to hold her in my arms. I—"

"Mrs. Cooper! There you are!" A harried nurse in pale, pink scrubs was briskly walking towards them, a clipboard tucked under her arm, her face tinged with concern. "What has Dr. Wright told you about visiting the nursery alone?"

"I heard there was going to be a delivery. I thought I'd want to be here to show support," Mrs. Cooper answered a little defensively as a man appeared in the nurse's wake, hair mussed, with dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he had not changed out of his clothes in days.

"Erin," he murmured as he dropped down to his knees and gave her a back-breaking hug. "I was so worried."

"I—" she looked lost, as if she hadn't thought her husband would look for her in the middle of her grief. Her husband shook his head, silencing her. He placed a small hand on her arm before getting up to push her back to her room. She turned back to Castiel and raised a hand in farewell.

Castiel gave her an almost imperceptible nod in acknowledgement, then turned back to the nurse who was already walking away to return to her duties in the ward. "Excuse me, Nurse—" he read the nametag when she turned around, "Hernandez, I am sorry. I was under the impression that September was usually the peak season of births. There seems to be a lot of empty beds here."

"There just haven't been enough live births to fill the beds," the nurse said, a little curt, and if Castiel could read this human right, then it seemed like she was also a little guarded. "I'm sorry, do you want to talk to my clinical manager or your wife's attending physician?"

"We could walk while talking, Nurse Hernandez," Castiel allowed as he began walking after the Coopers. Castiel was deciding which badge to flash, the Center for Disease Control or the Health Office, when Ms. Hernandez sighed and started walking beside him.

"It would still be better for you to talk to your wife's attending about any concerns, Mr.—?"

"Oddbody," Castiel replied. "Has there anything out of the ordinary of note lately?"

"Out of the ordinary?" The nurse was starting to get suspicious, and she was less likely to give him anything useful.

Castiel decided then that it was in his better interest to pretend to be a CDC agent. The Health Office could mean their bosses were up for an audit; the CDC could scare her enough to think it was an epidemic. Ms. Hernandez tensed when he flashed his ID badge. "I need to talk to the Chief of Clinics, but I wanted to understand the scope problem by seeing the wards first."

She dropped her voice to a small whisper, her eyes never leaving the Coopers in front of her. "There's a new virus or bacteria out there threatening our babies—that's why we're getting all of these still births, isn't it?"

Castiel started to doubt his decision in mentioning the CDC. Panic was something that was never good to introduce to small towns, and epidemics caused anarchy just as fast as any natural disaster. "Ma'am, we are doing preliminary investigations on the perinatal mortality rate. We have no indicator saying that we have an epidemic at our hands."

"Look, I don't know what you're doing back at the CDC, but I do know that I am looking at nine mothers out of ten grieving in my ward. I talked to one of my old classmates the next county over and she has the same problem on her hands." She stopped following the Coopers and took a good look at him. "Either we're incompetent, which I assure you, we're not, or there's an epidemic in our hands, in which case _you're_ incompetent and are either too blind or too stupid to see it. So, sir, as I said, would you like to talk to our clinical manager or the chief of clinics? The COC will probably need an appointment, but seeing as you're a big-wig and all, it can be arranged."

oOo

It had taken Castiel the better part of the entire day, getting the interview with the COC and talking to the various medical personnel, but one thing was certain: there was indeed a high perinatal mortality rate in the wards. It was an unprecedented mortality rate, higher than even the times when there had been no antibiotics, no hospitals, and midwives had no concept washing hands before delivery.

He closed his eyes and sighed at the amount of open books in front of him. He was sure that it was a case. A reaper wouldn't have brought it to his attention otherwise. And she had done so before the local authorities started to take interest in the fact that they were rapidly losing their population to death. It had taken him another two hours to hitch a ride to Lebanon from Nebraska.

It was going to be difficult to go back to Nebraska without a car. He needed to appropriate one of the cars in the bunker, possibly Dean's Impala, if he could ask Sam's permission for that. And he needed to find the Coopers. Maybe find the rest of the patient admissions within the past week in the obstetrics ward, which meant breaking into the hospital, and if that wasn't a headache, he didn't know what was. He hated breaking into hospitals and places with twenty-four hour services because even though the daytime staff was decreased at night, they were still _there_**.**

He started frowning when a tub of ice cream was unceremoniously dropped in front of him. He looked at the big container with a puzzled expression, noting that the condensation was going to mar the antique wood if it remained too long on top of the table.

"I learned from one of the greatest men that walked this earth that you should get ice cream and _then_ prostitutes if you were going to end up with a frown that heralds the Apocalypse," Kevin Tran said with a mock scowl while holding out a spoon for Castiel to take.

Castiel was always in awe of the prophet, whose name he'd known since he was created. He wished that Kevin had been protected more from the leviathans and the demons, even the angel possessing Sam that had tried to kill the prophet. Castiel had been thankful of the fact that the sigil Kevin had come up with for Sam to resurface had worked in suppressing 'Ezekiel' when he found out about it.

Once touched by the divine, it was always difficult to return to a normal life. In the end, hunting had given Kevin solace, and though he mainly researched and acted as support, Castiel was always grateful for the prophet's decision not to leave him alone in the bunker. Especially after Sam left to rebuild his life in Lawrence.

Castiel gave him a smile in thanks before accepting the offering, watching as Kevin opened the tub to share between the two of them. A small corner of Castiel's mind which he had long since relegated as Dean's terrible, terrible influence whispered: _a prophet, a fallen angel, and an ice cream tub—sounds like the beginning of a bad joke._

After decimating more than half of the ice cream and realizing that he probably spoiled himself for dinner, Castiel noticed that Kevin was giving him a worried look. One he'd often associated with people and pity. "Cas, you do realize that there are people you could ask for help, right?"

Asking for help had not been Castiel's style in the garrison because he had been so different from everybody else. The entire notion of asking for help was a bit foreign, a garrison worked instinctively with each other without having to worry about the mundane things like 'asking' in the first place. "I am grateful, Kevin, I am just unused to not having… what would you call it? A collective mind."

"Cas, you angels don't have a collective mind, you just have telepathy," Kevin corrected as he slid the book that Castiel had been reading closer so he could see. Most of the books were open to pages about witches, and several showed a couple of graphic and disturbing images of fetuses being eaten, so Castiel could understand the upset look that passed over Kevin's features. "I thought you knew mostly what monsters there were out in the world."

"I am unsure of this monster and I need to ask more of the victims to understand what is happening," Castiel answered as he leaned back against his chair, his mind going over the possibilities. While he was visiting his mental monster menagerie, he summarized most of what he learned from the memorial hospital for Kevin's benefit.

Kevin listened in and then opened his laptop, hacked a couple of hospital databases, and presented Castiel with a list. "It's not just happening in Hastings, Nebraska, Cas. It's happening _everywhere_. This is a list in Smith County alone. Is it someone like Pestilence with a new killer virus?"

Castiel looked at the numbers and became saddened. He had not seen such a large-scale death toll since the plagues of Egypt, when he and his brothers had been called upon to slaughter all firstborn children. No wonder the nurse had called him incompetent. "Let us talk to the people nearest here, Kevin."

"Okay. I'll call Sam on the way, all right?" Kevin said as he stood up to get his coat. "He'll worry if he drops by and we're not in the bunker… especially if he finds out we have a case and we didn't tell him."

oOo

Talking to relatives of the dead was one of the things that discomfited Castiel and made him out as a poor detective. Although he had attained emotion in his fall, it still felt like he was aping the humans in their anguish and their compassion. It was one of the reasons why he always had a partner when interviewing these people; he almost always caused a mishap with the way that he misread body language.

In a way, it felt like he was a child unleashed in society without knowing its rules, with the Winchesters as his only guide. At least Heaven was structured and ordered. Here, it was utter chaos.

He had chosen a suit, and he still had difficulty with his tie. They had gone with the cover of FBI instead of anything related to the Department of Health and Human Services, because a couple of health officers visiting after a death of a baby seemed like it would raise paranoia, and they didn't want to face that right now. Local police would be better, but then the local police would weed them out as false even before they could even get to the second family.

They were sitting in the living room, eating tea and biscuits, when Castiel tried to start on the line of questioning that he wanted. They were already visiting their fifth family, and mostly the stories were the same. Castiel had managed by trial and error to get most of the questioning right by that time, and now he faced Mrs. Henderson, a mother of two in her early thirties, who had delivered a stillborn baby last week. "We were concerned about a few reports around here, Mrs. Henderson, and we wanted to make sure that everything was all right."

"Reports?" Mrs. Henderson asked, confused. "Reports of what?"

"There was a woman who was robbed a few blocks over, and we're just checking the area," Kevin said smoothly. After a few years with the Winchesters, Kevin looked like a fresh graduate of criminology. Sometimes, they made excuses that his being Asian was the reason why he looked young when his age was questioned.

"Oh, old Mrs. Kelly's robbery! That's very… thorough of you." She put down her cup of tea and shrugged. "Everything is fine, really. We haven't had anyone acting suspicious that I know of."

"Anything, Mrs. Henderson, anything at all. It could have happened within this last month, someone following you, or anything that does not feel right," Castiel prompted, "A lot of the victims of robberies don't know it, but they're actually being observed carefully from afar, even for months to get to know their habits."

She shrugged again. "I'm sure that the robbery was actually more of a delinquent trying to prove themselves. Mrs. Kelly's place has that type of draw more than anything else. But I assure you, Agent Landon, I have noticed nothing in the past weeks or months."

This was where the questioning usually became tricky, as there was really no connection between the robbery that they were using for their line of questioning and the stillbirths. "Mrs. Henderson, did you notice anything unusual about your pregnancy?"

She frowned, her hand tightening around her cup, disturbed. "I don't understand. Why would you need to know something like that? I assure you, my pregnancy is—was not a matter for the bureau."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. It's just that we noticed that a good deal of the women targeted in the next county over were pregnant and experiencing difficulties with their pregnancies," Kevin apologized. The excuse was flimsy, and they didn't even know if that save was better than if they'd pretended to be from the HHS in the first place, but Mrs. Henderson relaxed fractionally, so at least that was all right.

"No," she said softly, closing her eyes to breathe in a couple of times before looking up at Kevin. "It should be fine, then. I had a smooth pregnancy; the prenatal visits were fine. The baby had a heartbeat and everything. He wasn't really that active, but he was fine. He was just delivered dead, that's all. I'm sorry, agents, will that be all? I feel like I have to lie down for a while."

"I am sorry for your loss," Castiel offered as he stood up, Kevin following close behind. Castiel brought out a calling card made for such cases and folded it into her hands. "If you have anything to tell us, please don't hesitate to call."

She nodded numbly before leading them out of the house. As soon as they were out of earshot and eyesight, Kevin loosened his tie and sighed. "There's nothing here—no one suspicious lurking around, no one felt anything wrong with the pregnancies. We're not finding anything."

Castiel felt Kevin's frustration mounting as Kevin took the driver's seat of the car they had appropriated from the Men of Letters. "On the contrary, we do know a couple of things. It's massive enough that there are more than two cities affected, meaning it can't be a single person." Castiel got into the car, dropping onto the seat and pulling his seatbelt on before continuing his observations, "They didn't have someone looking in on these women, so it couldn't have been a witch's spell, or say, someone from an obscure cult, who needed their children as ingredients or some sort of sacrifice."

Kevin hit the steering wheel in sheer impotence at the situation before drumming his fingertips on the wheel. "Do you want to interview more, or have you heard enough?"

Castiel shook his head. The women were consistent in their tales, and he didn't want to hear more heartache. It was already difficult to know that before, he had only to touch two fingers to their foreheads to relieve their pain. "I'm content with the ones we have. If we're dealing with a monster, then there are probably more than one, and they'll likely be indigenous to these parts, going by the sheer amount of deaths we've seen."

"Penanggalan, mananangal, matruculan and aswang are all out. Why is it that most of these monsters in your list are Asian in origin?" Kevin asked as he skimmed the list that he'd copied and taped to the dashboard, before he started the car and shifted gears.

"They're the only cultures I know of that speak of monsters eating babies before they're born. But seeing as they're stillborn and not really—_eaten,_ then they're probably not the culprits," Castiel explained. They had been a long shot, but he had included them in the list to be thorough. "Baba Yaga is busy in Europe, so it's unlikely that it's her. And she is one person, unable to cause this magnitude of brephophagy."

"Cas, what have we taught you? Say baby-eating monster instead of brephophagist, okay?" Kevin reminded him. He looked down the list, which was rapidly dwindling in size, before turning his eyes back to the road. "The Pale Man?"

"Still in Pan's Labyrinth," Castiel answered; he had checked these by some of the angels who had formed enough of a network and somehow still believed in him and his cause. "Grox'lar beasts just eat heads, and again, they eat babies, not fetuses."

"Eldritch Abomination?" Kevin offered up.

Castiel lips curled upward in a small smile. "He is not real."

Kevin let out a sound of disappointment, which made Castiel laugh. "Death Eclipse fits! He eats all newborn life in the planet every three hundred years, when the stars are right!" Kevin protested.

"Maybe I should just say the pigs ate them," Castiel said as he stared out the window. Due to the urbanization, people sometimes forgot that pigs eat babies if they were left unattended in farms.

There was a weighted silence after that pronouncement, broken when Kevin said, "Cas, whoever taught you your brand of humor should be shot in the head."

Castiel huffed in amusement. Kevin continued to drive them towards the bunker, but he glanced sideways at Cas. "Do you want to stop by the usual place before going home?"

Cas shifted uncomfortably in his seat, still not looking at Kevin directly. He pressed his cheek against the window and closed his eyes. "Yes, please."

oOo

Because Castiel was raised in an angel garrison, order gave him comfort, and rituals gave him structure. He hadn't stepped foot in his Father's house in ages, but he did find comfort in the fact that in this bench, in this field, he found the peace that he could not receive with his Father's blessing.

He sat on the bench alone; Kevin was respectfully waiting inside the car. Castiel watched mothers dust their children off, brushing away the soil they'd picked up after a day of playing, and packing their things for home. He watched silently, composing his thoughts, before bowing his head.

"Dean," Castiel whispered—although he did still try to talk to his Father, because faith was also resilient in a way, he had discovered that there was a different kind of comfort in talking to the Righteous Man. "I found another case. It is a bit disconcerting, and… we are either up against something really powerful, or something…" Castiel trailed off and looked up, losing his words.

He then voiced the conclusions that he had been afraid to tell Kevin, "We are facing either a monster horde or simply the embodiment of a Power. Powerful enough to rival Pestilence at least. Unless… this is a massive spell, in which case, I imagine it would cause a backlash that surely would have been felt by the other angels by now, and the Song is silent on this."

"Dean… I don't know how you managed to do this for years, but I will strive to continue as you have done." Dean had been dead for over a year, and Castiel still didn't know if he was doing the right thing by continuing hunting. Ever since Metatron's Spell, Dean had become Cas' moral compass. Because of Dean's death, the former angel had been forced to rely on his own judgment—something that has proven to be lacking. He looked up again, even though he knew that Heaven wasn't in the clouds or the darkening orange of the dusky sky. "The strength that it takes to overcome a roadblock… I am … lost right now."

There was no answer, but then Castiel never expected one. He himself hadn't answered prayers addressed to him immediately. His Father had encouraged answering a prayer by making use of the own human's abilities and encouraging their self-worth rather than doling out in miracles. It was enough that he believed his words would reach the Righteous Man somehow.


	3. The Transfiguration

**Chapter 3: The Transfiguration**

"Is it just me, or are you on fall duty more often?" Ellen was giving Dean a critical eye and flourishing a jug fresh from the beer tap for him. Ash found Ellen shortly after the Winchesters had informed the genius of their deaths. Ellen had then promptly set up around Ash's heaven with Bill, Ellen's husband, and Jo for company. As it was in Heaven, so it would be on Earth. Apparently, it went the other way sometimes as well.

Dean took a huge swig from the jug before trying to answer the question. Before he passed on, there were already souls that wanted out of the eternal bliss. Heaven was not always as cut out as you wanted it to be; isolation was never something humans coped well with.

Sure soul mates could share heavens, and family members could reach each other's most of the time. But people who didn't find soul mates in life couldn't just find them in Heaven because Heaven was a reflection of a life lived. "Dunno, Ash just dumped this entire mess on me when I got here. I was minding the catch of the day when he showed up, startling the fish."

Which might not have been the whole truth in itself. He had been a few days from being bored out of his mind. He did enjoy thinking about fishing, as an abstract 'what-if-I-ever-stop-hunting' kind of pastime, but he'd never really thought about doing it _forever_**.**

"Duuuude," Ash protested, slumping at the barstool beside Dean, "I had that angel radio, remember? I had a direct line to the angels, and suddenly, zero on the frequency, man. And then all of these soul-frequencies slowly building up, trying to implode on themselves. It's like small stars going supernova. Sometimes, I get a prayer like Ysa's grandma on the angel-net, which precludes supernova."

That kind of explained how Ash found out about these attempted suicides in the first place. Mostly, souls couldn't get out of their own patches of Heaven. Ash could because he learned Enochian and string theory. Ash later guessed that Dean, due to the fact that he was the Righteous Man and Michael's true vessel, had lesser boundaries and was able to move through Heaven in the Impala. Impala travel trumped Enochian travel most days, but Ash usually found the easiest paths to navigate, whereas Dean just provided the ride.

"There are what, a billion souls out here?" Dean asked, trying to wrap his head around the logistics.

"Not even close." Ash spread his hands over the bar. "That's just roughly the population of China. Dude, this is Heaven. It's like space. It extends outward infinitely, and holds all souls since the beginning of _time_. Sure we've lost some to reincarnation, but—"

"Okay, Dr. Badass, I just wanted a ballpark figure." Dean closed his eyes. He did not want to think of the math involved there. They were fucked, period. "So if a lot of these souls wanted more than this soap opera, I'd be spending more and more time driving and less and less time fishing?"

"We're not even getting all the frequencies, man," Ash pointed out. He hopped over the bar, ignoring Ellen's look of disapproval, and pulled up what passed for angel radio in the post-Fall era. "We're probably just noticing the souls that are closer to our timeline and running at the same speed as our current heaven is running."

Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose. Heaven didn't even allow headaches as part of the entire afterlife package, but there was something soothing about remembered habits. "So you're saying what I'm doing is practically useless."

A smack on the back of his head had Dean swiveling on his seat and glaring at Jo, who had just arrived and probably listened in on the tail end of the conversation. "Dean Winchester, only you could bring a pity party to Heaven."

Dean glared at her and was about to protest when Ellen cleared her throat, managing to bring most of their attention to her. "Well, maybe you wouldn't need to be on fall duty if the original patrol was actually doing its job."

Dean snorted in exasperation. "Really? 'Cause last I heard, all the angels went all _Deep Impact_ on Earth."

"Unlock the Gates of Heaven, Dean," Jo pointed out. "Duh, that's what Mom is saying."

Dean stopped lifting his beer midway. Well, there was that. It wasn't such a bad idea, actually. "Any of you know the spell Metatron used to close it in the first place?"

There was a telling silence, and Dean sighed. "Awesome."

oOo

_Casting his fishing line, eating well, and lazing around in the hut was all well and good, but in the end, Dean had to admit that he was, in fact, bored. He had liked domesticity well enough when he was with Lisa, but he'd been with people then, surrounded by friends, family. Dean, despite his projected lone wolf lifestyle, was a social person, and he craved contact. Family and warmth. He was sure Heaven was supposed to be more than the idyll of endless fish and endless sun._

_It had driven him to search for things to do, which apparently, on some instinctive level he knew. He'd reached for the small bowl right inside the entrance of the cabin for the keys to the Impala. She was at his heaven's garage, shining, waiting for him to pick her up after all the time he'd spent away._

_It sadly reminded him of that one-year break with Lisa while Sam had been locked in the pit. He didn't dwell on those memories; they were mostly his lows, with bitterness laced all through them._

_Just as he was about to leave his house, Ash walked through the gates with a shy-looking girl. Her hair was done up in braided pigtails, and she was wringing her hands in worry. Dean raised one eyebrow at Ash because he couldn't ask him what the hell was going on in front of the girl. It would just be his luck if she cuffed him and told him to mind his tongue, like a good old-fashioned grandma._

"_I thought Sheila here could use a friend and brought her straight up to you," Ash said by way of explanation, patting Sheila's shoulder before promptly disappearing into the house, presumably to help himself to Dean's beer._

_Dean stared for a few seconds after Ash, because honestly, Jo would have been a better choice for a friend than Dean. The girl looked like she was around Jo's age, anyway._

_She was already uncomfortable, eyes fixed on the Impala like she was trying to ignore Dean altogether._

_Young teenage girls and their issues were things that Dean had never felt equipped to handle. What he did pick up from her demeanor, though, was that she liked the car, despite her discomfort at the situation._

_Dean figured, what the hell? It was what he'd been planning on doing anyway, before Ash came crashing in. It wasn't as though Sheila's parents were going to hunt him down and kill him, because come on. So he offered, "You want to go out for a drive?"_

"_You'll let me drive?" she asked, eyes twinkling with glee when they finally landed on Dean._

_Okay, no. Heaven would probably come up with the parts in case a crash happens, but Dean was not handing his keys over to just anyone. It was the principle of the thing. "Hold on there, short stop. I meant I'd be driving. Name's Dean, by the way."_

"_Oh," she said, disappointed. But she opened the passenger door and strapped herself in, if a bit subdued._

_They ended up driving for longer than Dean could remember. _

_Sheila had looked over the asphalt road and then back at the small lake that had been part of Dean's heaven, as it disappeared into the horizon, noting little pockets of intermittent areas that dropped off into bizarre and incongruous patterns on the side streets._

"_Wow, you can step off your heaven," Sheila said in wide-eyed amazement, "I tried leaving mine, but it just kept bringing me back to the lot in front of my house."_

_Okay, new freak ability. Dean filed that away as something to ask Ash about later as they continued driving. He ended up parking in front of the Cleveland Botanical Gardens, because Sheila seemed not to have seen much of anything since being stuck in the afterlife and the Garden seemed like the main tourist attraction, so to speak._

_She scrambled out of the car and skipped along the paths of the Garden, Dean following close behind. They inevitably went near the World Tree; it was unavoidable, seeing as it was the largest structure in the middle of the Garden. _

_Its colorful lights, the waterfalls, and the mountain were enough of a draw for anyone to come in and gape at in wonder. Beside the fact that a _mountain_ could not only fit inside a botanical garden, but also that it rose up from an almost bottomless pool, was amazing. _

_Dean hadn't even noticed the Tree the first time they were here, because Joshua's conversation had kept him occupied. Sheila took a seat near the falls, studying the spray of water silently. Dean sat down beside her in companionship because he suspected Ash had wanted that for her._

"_He brought me to you because I…" she trailed off, shrugging, "were you ever disillusioned by what you found here?"_

_The kid asked tough questions. Dean had thought after he first visited Heaven that it was going to be a never-ending trail of memories. But memories were finite, and he did not want to relive that forever. He'd found out that the greatest hits, the axis mundi was the road to the final construct, and that final construct was what he'd build as his dream life. _

_So the lake, the bunker, the hut, and the Impala were Dean's dream life. Who'd have thought it would never have that white picket fence Sam had tried so hard to foist on him? "I promised someone important to me that I'd wait for him. My little brother is still alive, you know. And we're sharing my heaven. Although he's probably gonna build a white picket fence on his side."_

"_I just wish…" She shrugged. "I just wish I'd been able to do more in life. Being happy all the time… it's exhausting. I don't even have the chance to wait for someone, to not be alone for eternity."_

_Maybe being happy all the time was difficult to ask from someone who had been this young when she died. "How long have you been alone?"_

"_I was an orphan; I was alone since I was given away," Sheila said bitterly, scratching her arms. She was one of those who had fallen between the cracks of the system, not really having a home. Her lonely life was only followed by more isolation in the afterlife. "How do you survive eternity waiting for nothing?"_

"_Didn't you place everything that you liked back in your heaven?"_

_She eyed him wearily. "How's that going for you, so far?"_

_And he had to give her that. Only today, he had been antsy and about to crawl out of his skin. He eyed the scratches that she was continually doling out on her skin. He pulled her hands away from her arms. He had never understood self-harm, but he did see the damage that it caused._

_Sheila winced, as if just noticing the scratches for the first time. Dean surveyed the wounds critically. It was Heaven; they were going to heal sooner rather than later, but they were in the Garden, and Dean didn't know the rules here, so he stood up, cupped his hands to gather some water from the falls, and brought it towards Sheila. _

"_I just want to leave. You know. I need to see that I can be something worthwhile." She offered her wrists up ruefully before he let the water trickle down over the marks._

_He gave her a small, encouraging smile. "I'm sure we'll—"_

"_Dean," she interrupted, bringing her hands towards her face to show Dean the wounds. Instead of the small, bleeding scratches he expected to see, the water had filled the wounds with light, shining through the breaks in her skin._

_Panic set in, and Dean removed his coat, starting to wipe the water off Sheila's wrists. But it seemed too late. The light was starting to spread in a small glow over her fragile looking skin. She looked like a china-doll, dropped and cracked. Dean was still wiping at her hands frantically when she grabbed his hands and gave him a small smile._

"_Dean," she whispered, and there was a small amount of awe, and maybe some disbelief, in her voice. "It's all right. I know what this is now. It's—"_

_She shattered into a million pieces before she could finish the sentence, and she formed back into a small but blinding light, shapeless, falling into the pool that cascaded into the foaming waters below, its loud roar suddenly thundering in Dean's ears when before he hadn't noticed sound at all_

"Dammit_," Dean muttered. What the hell had he started _now?

oOo

Apparently, searching for purpose was still an integral part of a person, despite being in the hereafter. Days started flowing more smoothly, now that Dean had a sense of purpose. He'd found something that he didn't have much of when he was alive: a routine. His time was spent on fall duty, which only the Righteous Man could do; family time with Bobby and Karen; social time with Ash, Ellen, Bill, and Jo; fishing and downtime at the bungalow; and research at the bunker.

Dean walked around the bungalow in the soft, grey robe that he'd taken to wearing during breaks in the Men of Letters bunker.

He took a burrito from his food cache, snagged a couple of beers from the cooler, and wrenched open his walk-in closet while trying to juggle his armload of food.

Dean's heaven had created his perfect life-after-hunting scenario: a lake house in the middle of nowhere that combined doing nothing (like fishing) with pseudo-work (like the bunker and a garage—because there was no way in hell he was in Heaven without the Impala). The hunter's heaven was connected through his bedroom closet to his heaven's exact replica of the bunker. Apparently, once a hunter, always a hunter.

He dumped the food unceremoniously on the long paneled oak desk and headed for the library.

He stared blankly at the rows and rows of the books that the Men of Letters had collected through the ages, at a loss. He'd read most things about angels that the bunker had to offer ages ago, and he'd reread most of them since deciding to hunt Metatron, (and seriously, would he never run out of angels to hunt? Because he honestly thought Lucifer had been kind of a last end-all, be-all thing.)

"Hey, Cas," Dean muttered under his breath as he rooted around the library to come up with some reading. On some level, he knew that Cas probably couldn't hear his prayers anymore, but he was used to praying to the angel and he wasn't about to stop just because he was dead… or because the angel couldn't hear him… or because the Gates of Heaven were shut tight.

Dean's mom may have been the one who taught him how to pray, but it was Castiel whom Dean had faith in enough to pray to. "I'm kinda stuck here, man." He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against a bookshelf. "I know it was a spell, and I know Metatron cast it, but we never got around to talking about what it was. So give me something, man, anything at all, here."

He opened his eyes, and they rested on the Bible. One of the old copies, well-worn from use. Dean hesitated before reaching out. "All right, all right. I can take a hint, buddy."

oOo

Ash found Dean several days later (hours, weeks? Time was really fluid when you had forever, and you were running in a separate time vector from everybody else. Which begged the question: why had he ended up in Heaven just to get 'vectors'? It was a word he could have gone through life without). He was slumped over the bunker table, which was mostly covered by the Men of Letters' research.

"We should go on a hunt," Ash announced, taking in the dark circles under Dean's eyes, the large King James Bible open to _Revelation_, and the general mess that was the research room.

Yes, Dean could get on board with a hunt. "You do realize that we're in Heaven. There are no hunts."

Ash rolled his eyes. "You hunters lack imagination, man. Dean, you have this unhealthy codependency on your brother and your freaking angel—you can't even manage a hunt without someone else doing all the boring work for you."

"Hey, shut your pie-hole," Dean grumbled, because he had done perfectly fine with research when Sam had gone off to Stanford and left him alone with Dad. It was just that he hadn't done so much research by himself in such a long time, and it made him feel that much more alone. He'd never been truly on his own; even when he and Sam had temporarily split up, he had Castiel along for the ride most of the time, and before that, there had been Dad.

Ash had the gall to laugh at him, and Dean was tempted to shoot the man in the foot. "Is there a point to this, or are you just here for the entertainment value?"

Ash shook his head, miming wiping tears from his eyes. "Okay, man, we need to get you out of your slump. No one has seen you for _days_." That answered his question about time, then. Ash pulled him from the oak desk, half-dragging, half-prodding him along before dumping him in the showers. "Take a shower, man. You stink."

"Hey!" Dean raised his arm and sniffed himself just to be sure, but there was definitely no stink factor. He should know; it was his heaven. But a shower was a good idea. It should clear his head.

He could almost hear another eye roll from Ash. "We'll go talk to the Elders. You did manage to remember _something_ useful in your pity binge right?"

Dean stared mutely at the shower with an annoyed huff, and Ash left him to it, presumably to raid the kitchen food or find something else to pester him with.

Dean emerged from the showers a few minutes later refreshed, clear-headed, and hungry. It actually spoke about his state of mind, because hunger and Heaven weren't things that went hand in hand. It was a subtle reminder to him that he needed time off from brooding.

Ash was sitting at the rough dining table, looking through mail. It was nosy of him, but then Dean expected a certain amount of nosiness from Ash. Dean resisted the urge to snatch the bundle of letters from him, but that would be telling Ash more about Dean than Dean would like to admit so he left Ash to it, feigning indifference. "They're left in a pile over the mailbox for a reason."

"Why don't you read your prayers, man?" Ash asked in confusion as he counted through the lot. There were enough letters to fill a shoebox. And if that didn't make Dean feel like a girl, he didn't know what did. "I get mine by e-mail, but I don't think I get _this_ much. Of course, I didn't leave my soul mate and family behind, so there isn't much of anybody to pray to me back at home."

Any further discussion of prayers to Dean, people he left, and feelings in general was stopped by Dean's curt, "None of your fucking business." Dean took his keys from a small hook in the kitchen and pulled Ash from the table, away from the letters and the life he left behind.

Ash didn't protest the manhandling and took the passenger seat when they got to the car. The rumble of the Impala soothed nerves that Dean hadn't even known were frayed. It had been a mistake to hide away in the bunker, and he had seen it too late. The first beats of the drums of Zeppelin's _Rock and Roll_ filtered through Baby's stereo.

"Even your car wants to talk feelings," Ash commented, tapping with the beat. Maintaining some semblance of control, Dean refrained from aiming an irritated look at his passenger. Meanwhile, Ash continued, "You do know that your car is basically your ego."

"Lost me at feelings, Ash," Dean bit out, cranking the volume up and listening to the guitar riff before the lyrics resumed.

Ash rolled his eyes and said, "A glorified map, that's all you need me for."

"And beer. Seriously, beer in your heaven is better than mine," Dean corrected as he backed out of his personal heaven right into the axis mundi, Zeppelin's voice demanding to 'carry me back' soothing the small ache that he'd started to feel.

oOo

Dean hadn't known what he'd expected when Ash told him that he'd be going to an Elder's heaven, but it certainly wasn't darkness with a single flame. He came to the place expecting to talk to some crusty old guy decked in medieval clothes, or maybe clothes from anywhere before the turn of the century, and was handed an element instead.

Ash looked at the fire, then at Dean, and then slapped his palm against his forehead. "Uh, yeah, dude, I forgot to warn you. Sometimes when souls stay here long enough, their concept of Heaven changes. Other souls become incorporeal."

As soon as Ash spoke the words, there was a lightening of what Dean could only assume was this heaven's sky, which quickly bled from the inky night into a pale dawn. From the flame, a young man emerged, and had they been on Earth, Dean would have put him in his early thirties, subdued with longish hair that reminded Dean of Sam, tied neatly in a small ponytail.

"Do not worry, Ash. I can converse in this form as well," the Elder said. He flicked his hand, and the surroundings seamlessly transitioned from the outdoors to a standard motel room. "I feel the Righteous Man would be more comfortable here than anywhere else."

Dean looked around the room. It was reminiscent of old hunts and the days of tirelessly looking for culprits, right down to the almost motel looking parking lot outside and the blinking vacancy sign that was about to be turned off as the morning light grew stronger.

"You want to know about the Spell," the Elder said as he sat down on one of the beds, eyeing both Dean and Ash speculatively, "and you want to know about Metatron."

"I know plenty about the dickbag," Dean spat out. He took one of the chairs from a desk that was near the window, and Ash leaned on the wall by the fridge, all of them filling out the room quickly. "But I really need the ingredients."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, Dean Winchester, but there are no known counter-spells for the closing of the Gates. Your prophet, Kevin Tran, has already read this to you through the angel tablet. You have forgotten because of your crossing through to Heaven."

And as soon as the Elder said that, the memories filtered back. Research, a large volume slapped before him, Sam's voice on his cell telling him, "It's done." A conversation about the Spell followed, but Dean snapped back to the present, the same feeling of hopelessness settling in. He had one important thing to do for Cas, and he'd failed.

He stood up, walking rigidly to the door. "Thank you—uh—" he realized belatedly that he'd never gotten down to asking this man's name.

"Wait," the Elder said, stopping him from leaving. But Dean already found out what he needed to know. It seemed like he was gonna be stuck on fall duty forever now, and he didn't know if he wanted to hear more bad news. "Mr. Winchester, despite the fact that the Spell cannot be reversed, there is another way. Heaven is locked only to the angels. They can probably be invited back in."

"By dying? No, I don't think so. I can probably move my timeline along for most of the angels to be dead at some point but—"

"Of course not, Mr. Winchester." And wasn't that a rare occurrence, someone calling him his real surname in a case and someone actually knowing about the case that they were investigating. "Heaven was meant for souls, Dean Winchester, and though the angels are now mortal, they were never human. They never had souls."

And that statement opened up another can of worms. He should have told Cas to stay away from hunts while he was alive. He didn't want to think where angels were sent when they died. They certainly didn't go to Purgatory, since in his entire year there, there were no angels littering the floors and trying to get revenge on Castiel for their deaths. "Are you telling me that Cas is just, what, going to stop existing?"

There was a telling silence, and Dean wanted to curse because he had just spent all of his time trying to think of a way to bring the angels back when the more important thing should have been keeping Castiel alive. It was just that… Castiel had always been meant for Heaven. Dean had never imagined a time when Cas and Heaven weren't linked.

"Is he always this pessimistic?" the Elder asked, directing his question to Ash.

"Hey, I'm still here!"

"If there is one angel that could lift the bar from the Gates of Heaven, then it would be Michael," the Elder informed them, eyes studying Dean. Dean flinched at the scrutiny. Were Elders always supposed to give unnecessarily indirect answers? Because so far, none of his answers had been satisfying. "Ash did warn you that my heaven is designed as a place where there are no individuals, no private conversations, but a place where souls may coexist as a community?"

"Uh, did you just in your roundabout way tell me that we're in a hive mind, and you can hear me think?" Dean spluttered. The Elder nodded in amusement. "Man, I shouldn't be responsible for what I _think_! And besides, Michael is locked away in Lucifer's Cage! In Hell! What kind of answer is that?"

It was to the Elder's credit that he did not lose patience. "Lucifer's Cage is a construct of Heaven. It exists in all realities, in all planes and is a quantum superposition. The locks were broken in Hell, using the vessel of Heaven, and finalized on Earth."

Dean stared at him blankly, because since when did Renaissance men, or from whatever time the Elder came from, know anything about _quantum superposition_? And why was it that he still managed to put foot squarely in mouth even in Heaven?

Ash spoke up before it could get more confusing, "He means that the Cage is in Hell, but it's also in Purgatory, Earth, and more importantly—"

"Heaven," Dean finished. Because though he could be slow on the uptake on some things, he was certainly not stupid. The chances that Michael would help him were few, but they had to find the Cage first. And he assumed that it wouldn't be easy.

"The Cage is in the third heaven," the Elder informed him. And didn't that just suck, because Dean had already a hard time dealing with the concept of Heaven in general, and now he was being told that there were at least three.

"I can find the Cage," Ash announced, because Ash had worked out how to get around Heaven, and he was at the forefront of trying to map out what it was that they were living in. "It's mainly 'north' of Paradise and 'south' of the River of Eternity."

Which still left Dean in the dark. He hadn't even realized that Heaven had landmarks. He'd thought it was his tangle of roads that led to a ton of different heavens as well as the Garden, period. And now there was a river and _Paradise_, whatever that was.

"I would have had a hard time finding my way around Heaven too, but I think some stoned angel went down to Earth and created _NexusWars—_it's an MMORPG, based on the third heaven's topography," Ash said excitedly. Dean thought maybe that could have been Gabriel. It sounded like something he would do. "And more importantly… _we're_ in the third heaven."

"All right, uh, thank you Mr.—"

The Elder smiled but he didn't get up and didn't reach for Dean's hand. "You're welcome, Mr. Winchester."

He turned back to follow Ash out of the heaven, only to realize that the room was already fading and the temporary daylight was now darkening. "Have you ever thought about getting reincarnated?"

_Are you offering your services, Mr. Winchester? _There was a soft laugh from the man despite the fact that already he was turning back into a flame. It reminded Dean of Cas' transition between vessels, from Claire back to Jimmy. _Dean Winchester, reincarnation is for those who have unfulfilled lives, those who want another chance to do the things that they were not able to do._

The voice was as loud as it was when he had talked to the man in a nondescript motel in the middle of nowhere. For some reason, hearing the voice in his head did not freak Dean out as much as he'd expected it to._ You become an Elder in Heaven by realizing that no matter how many lives you live, there will always be regrets. It's not about not having regrets, but accepting that you will have them and moving on despite of them._


	4. The Visitation

**Chapter 4: The Visitation**

Frustration. Castiel had known frustration in the abstract before he became human. With all the hours he'd experienced it, he was intimately aware of all that it entailed, and he did not care for it. He had not learned its depth before, and now he wished to unlearn it the soonest.

The pregnancies that were failing had nothing in common. They spanned all ages, all social types, bridged across cities, states, and continents. These women had not shared even religion and faith; there was nothing to go on except that these babies most often ended up dead when they were born.

There was a little thing that Castiel noted though: the babies mostly survived if they were born on or before their due date. Any baby born after term was usually induced, and that usually led to the baby being stillborn. It was atypical because the doctors habitually induced labor for patients who were over forty-two weeks of gestation, but they previously had a better survival rate than what the current hospital registries were showing. And there was a large difference in the census of the post-term pregnancies comparing now from the previous months.

Castiel had decided to find solution to this impediment of his by clearing his mind and walking around. He had ended up utterly lost in the outskirts of Lebanon with his thoughts circling around himself. He glanced up, found the sun setting, and frowned in dismay. Walking to Lebanon from the bunker was a solitary endeavor; it was stretches of farmland with the wide-open KS 191 and patches of Highway 281.

It took an hour at a brisk walk to get to Lebanon from the bunker, but Castiel had lost an entire day, something not unusual when he was deep in thought about his current adversary. He ended up in the archway of a church, because somehow, though he had doubts, his subconscious still believed. He sighed in resignation and walked through the open doors.

Mass was already underway when he stepped in, but it was in the tail end, with the priest blessing his parishioners as they were being told to go forth. He strode towards the back to be unobtrusive, the loud boom of the speaker and the acoustics of the room made Castiel feel like he was still receiving Revelation. He bowed his head in prayer, still turning the details of the case in his head. It caused him to miss the people leaving, while he was buried in thoughts of unborn children, reapers and angels.

He probably would have stayed in the pews until he received something more tangible than the _feeling_ of Revelation if someone hadn't broken his musings with, "Castiel, in my church. Brother, I am blessed."

Castiel raised his eyes to meet the angel who had come to greet him. Because Castiel was human, he was forced to define this angel in terms of gender, roles, and appearances. Had he still been an angel, he would have identified him by grace and by choir rank. The angel stood before him in a priest's vestments, his dark eyes filled with concern. Joshua as a priest was appropriate; he had always favored meditation and reflection over most things in life. "Joshua, I am not worthy."

With a frown and a small shake of his head, Joshua said, "None of us are unforgivable, brother. None of us are truly, inescapably lost." He put his hand on Castiel's shoulder and sat with him on the pews. The silence echoed in the church walls now that the congregation had dispersed back to their homes.

The silence was comforting in its own way. Had he been back in the garrison, the Song would have been constant in the background, resonating between him and Joshua now that they were both occupying the same space. Joshua's notes would have blended with the fast and harsh tones that Castiel was desperately churning around his head. Enochian had been their language, but the Song had been their thoughts in motion. Now, though Castiel could hear the Song, it was as if he was fumbling the notes, as if he was a player missing the beat in a well-timed orchestra.

In the end, Castiel sighed and whispered, "Are you aware of the recent upsurge in the infant mortality rate?"

Joshua frowned, as if mentally reviewing recent events and then shook his head quickly. "I have heard the parishioners mourning over an unborn child, but I was unaware that it could have been termed as an upsurge." For all that angels were on the Earth, they still lacked the basic human empathy needed to interact with humans. Maybe this issue had been deemed unworthy in the angel's eyes.

"All right," Castiel said, slowly standing up and giving up for the day.

Castiel must have been more tired than he was, or maybe he still resonated some of the Song to Joshua, because Joshua advised, "Brother, focus on the outcome, not the obstacle."

Had Joshua been the font of wisdom when they had been in Heaven? Castiel didn't remember. Then again, Joshua was a virtue and one who had heard God's voice, and by nature, has always tried to be encouraging. It made Castiel pause and look at him in a different light.

"Would you like to visit a nursery with me?" Castiel offered.

oOo

Visiting the victims was always grounding to Castiel. Now that he had human emotions, he could empathize, could feel the sorrow and the ashes of hope.

At the magnitude that they were dealing with, there were a lot of nurseries that Castiel could observe. It was godsend because had he been focusing in one hospital, Castiel was sure he would have been barred from entry or reported as a fraud sooner rather than later.

The drive to another county hospital passed in silence. The Song would have been appreciated, but despite the lack of it, they did not try to replace it with the meaningless noise that the humans often fell back on.

There was no music and there were no pointless conversation about the weather or whether Castiel was eating appropriately. It was refreshing, because Castiel could still turn and turn the thoughts of his case without being bothered to think of "small talk," something he still couldn't fully grasp.

Why was it that he had never found another angel to hunt with?

Flashes of another angel, another sister years ago, fallen in ashes. Castiel closed his eyes to pretend that the darkness could shield him from his memory. So many burnt ashes, so many remnants of bright wings.

Joshua stopped the car and parked, waiting patiently for Castiel to finish his current memory. Another thing with angels: they were mostly patient. They did not pry; they did not pretend to offer comfort. They took in a situation and just were.

Castiel also found out while walking alongside Joshua that a priest's vestments earned more respect and leeway than any of the other disguises that he had been taught to use by the Winchesters in a hunt. They were led to the nursery without question and with less suspicion than Castiel himself had been when he'd claimed to be a medical officer or an FBI agent.

After their guide left them, Joshua frowned at the viewing window. There was one baby in a crib; all the others were empty. But as before, Castiel had noted on the way up that the maternity ward was full. "This is an old soul," Joshua noted as he touched the glass separating him from the baby.

The only other birth that Castiel knew of was also another old soul, so there was a pattern, if nothing else. "It is something of a conundrum." The Gates of Heaven were closed. All angels had been thrown violently out of Heaven. Humans were effectively locked down in their own versions of Heaven with no guides to ferry them from their small isolated heavens to the Garden.

Even if Ash, who knew how to travel from one heaven to another, could bring people to the Garden, he wouldn't be able to use the Tree of Good and Evil. He would never be able to touch the waters from the falls or even access the Tree. Seeing as the waters from the Garden were the only way for a soul to be reborn, reincarnation had effectively halted once the angels were cast away.

Joshua pulled away from the glass just as a nurse came up to them, decked in the pink scrubs that meant she worked in the maternity ward. She looked slightly anxious as she approached them. "Sorry, Father, I'm Nurse Morris. I know that this is an unusual request, but one of the mothers in my ward saw you come in and requested if you could come and bless her before she goes into C-section?"

Joshua nodded his head in assent, and Nurse Morris turned back to lead them towards the mother. Castiel followed behind, watching as the nurse maneuvered efficiently around the corridors. She knocked at one of the rooms, where a slightly distraught mother was lying down, sitting with her husband and a man whom Castiel assumed was the doctor monitoring her.

The fact that a doctor was monitoring her when she wasn't in active labor spoke volumes about the way that the patients were being triaged. The doctors were starting to take notice of the deaths and they were increasing their monitoring to make sure that the baby was fine up to the time that the mother was going to deliver.

"Father, this is Mr. and Mrs. Woods," the nurse introduced, nodding at them in acknowledgement before leaving to do her rounds.

Mr. Woods straightened up and offered a hand to Joshua. "I'm Dennis, and this is my wife, Rebecca. We've heard a lot of bad news lately, and Rebecca just wanted to receive a prayer before she entered the operating room."

"Of course." Joshua entered the room fully and took the husband's place, clasping Rebecca's hand. Joshua frowned when he touched her, and there was a long moment of silence, enough that Rebecca fidgeted under Joshua's touch and Dennis stepped closer.

"What's wrong?" Rebecca asked, in the small voice of the uncertain.

Joshua took a moment and looked at her in the eye with a stare that was disconcerting to most humans. "He will tend to His flock like a shepherd; He will gather the lambs in His arms; He will gather them in His bosom and gently lead those that are with young."

Her hand gripped his tighter. They were not the words of comfort that she had probably wanted to hear. The passage had come from the Prophet Isaiah and he had always been the poet, and rather cryptic in his writing. "Read the first book of Samuel if you have time after this ordeal, Rebecca."

And then her hand loosened. Joshua nodded to her before they left, and the door swung closed behind them.

Castiel looked back at the door. The first chapter in the book of Samuel had been about Samuel being dedicated to God. "The baby is going to die?" Castiel had phrased it as a question, but they both knew that it was a definite thing.

Joshua looked at Castiel. "The baby was not granted a soul."

There was a creation story somewhere, buried in all of the stories that were ever told. Sometimes, a soul chose its parents before it was born; sometimes it was written that God chose for them. In all of Creation, the soul was made by God, nurtured by the Tree of Life and then dropped down into the Treasury of Souls where they would wait until needed. An angel then took each soul that came into his hands and bestowed it to a child that was waiting to be born.

"This is the reason why there have been long gestations," Castiel muttered to himself, walking alongside Joshua. Because it was usually the soul wishing to be born that started labor. "But I still do not understand. The Gates have been closed for some time. Why has it taken so long for there to be this kind of manifestation?"

Neither he nor Joshua knew the answer.

oOo

Castiel arrived home to a frantic Kevin and a worried Sam. Castiel eyed both of them wearily, and Kevin ran up to him and gave him a small punch to the arm. "Don't do that! You have a _phone_, Cas."

Castiel tilted his head to the side, because yes, he had a phone, but that did not seem to be relevant to both of them being at the bunker and eyeing him like he'd forgotten something extremely important. "I am well aware of my possessions, meager as they are, Kevin."

"_Seriously?" _Kevin asked, looking at him in part-frustration and part-relief. Finally, he threw his hands up in the air and shot Sam a look that Castiel could not hope to decipher. "I give up. Talk to him. He's your brother's angel!"

There was a stretch of silence as both Castiel and Sam watched Kevin storm out of the common room, no doubt to sequester himself in the room that he'd claimed for himself.

Which left Sam. It had become increasingly harder to talk to the young Winchester after Dean's death. Sam had always shown that he could live without Dean, that he could walk away from the hunting life and not look back. And Sam, being in Lebanon, forming a new life that was apart from them, it felt too much like abandonment. Castiel could live with Sam leaving him—after all it had been years since Sam was his ward— but to Castiel, it felt like a betrayal of Dean's memory.

"Kevin was worried, Cas. We couldn't call you, and you didn't say where you were going," Sam started as he sat down heavily on one of the bunker chairs. Castiel frowned and palmed his cellphone, flipping the cover open only to see that its screen was dark. Sam shook his head and said, "Yeah, okay, I should have expected that. You do remember we told you to charge your phone, right?"

He remembered being told, but he had forgotten to actually go and do it. It was one of those annoying quirks of humanity without having his grace other than eating and sleeping and taking showers. Pointless and forgettable until suddenly his friends were haggard and wondering where he was at – he checked his watch – nine in the evening and running themselves ragged looking for him.

He was generally better at aping humanity when he was not working on a difficult case. Being on a case, with all of the focus it entailed, made him forget the simple things that helped him blend in. Sam and Kevin assumed it was because of his awkwardness, but it was more because when he was on a case, nothing else mattered. When immersed in a case, he lost the veneer of humanity that made them forget that though he looked like them, he wasn't truly one of them. Human vessels were effective masks that way.

Castiel slowly pulled up a chair in front of Sam and sat down across from him. It was then that he noticed a small plate covered in cling wrap in the middle of the table. It was a thin fried egg pancake, similar to a crêpe but filled with onions. Castiel and Kevin were not the best of cooks, but Kevin sometimes missed his mom's cooking, and they managed the occasional Chinese dish whenever time permitted. Kevin was raised in an all-American household, but sometimes his palate was definitely Chinese.

Castiel touched the side of the plate. He hadn't eaten at all today, focused as he was on the case. He was hungry, and he'd forgotten something basic again. He had learned once that he could survive on one meal a day as long as he drank enough water and didn't get too much physical activity. He had gotten a thorough scolding and so much coddling afterwards that he had personally vowed never to forget again. He'd forgotten as soon as the next case hit a problematic bump.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Castiel started. It seemed he was always apologizing for something nowadays. For being inadequate, for not being human enough, for not being enough of a hunter, for not being _Dean_.

Sam sighed as he pushed the plate of _jian bing_, the Chinese crêpe, towards Castiel. Kevin was a mother hen; who would have thought? "You don't owe me an apology, Cas."

"But I offer it just the same." Castiel looked back toward the corridors that Kevin disappeared into and back to Sam, to find that Sam had been studying him.

"You know, you're not the only one mourning."

Castiel let out a laugh that surprised even him. Was this what Dean meant when he complained about Sam's propensity to talk about feelings? He had thought that he'd be on the receiving end of a full-blown lecture on taking care of himself, but this seemed off on a tangent in more ways than one. "Sam, I assure you, I do not have a bloated sense of self-worth. I do not count myself alone in this venture, and I do not belittle your concern over my well-being."

"Then what is this?" Sam asked, and Castiel wondered if he was missing some level of this conversation again. It was as if they were talking about something else and he was missing the entire point because he was not human enough to understand its subtleties. As if Sam was having one conversation and Castiel another. As if they were talking _at_ instead of _with_ each other.

"This was me forgetting that I am now _human_," Castiel answered testily, because Sam could truly wear down on his patience. "There was a case, and that superseded all other needs."

"No, this was you forgetting that you have _friends_." Sam gave another sigh when he saw the frown that Castiel was pulling. "Dean wasn't your only friend, Cas."

Castiel bowed his head in shame. He hadn't thought about it that way, which was probably why Sam was frustrated and Kevin had shut himself in his room. Somehow, telling Sam that he might not have left a note for Dean either wouldn't have helped matters.

"Eat your food, Cas. God knows Kevin burnt enough knuckles to make that," Sam prodded, which was just enough of a push to make Castiel feel guiltier at the cascading events that led to this moment.

"I assume the rice Kevin cooked is already cold?"

Sam nodded, so Castiel stood up to find the rice cooker that they had managed to stash somewhere in the common room. Sam thankfully let Castiel end the conversation at that.

In the end, instead of cooking a new batch of rice, Castiel managed to water down the leftovers to make congee, which meant it took him more time to make it, postponing actually going to Kevin. He'd brought along a tray and two bowls of congee with Kevin's cooking right in the middle.

Kevin opened the door to his knocking looked at the tray and eyed Castiel wearily. "I'm still annoyed at you."

"I am aware," Castiel answered drily, then tilted his tray with the food offering towards Kevin, "Do you want to join me for breakfast?"

"It's midnight, Cas." That explained the sleepy look, the bed head, and the groggy reply. Castiel hadn't meant to be inconsiderate, but the congee had taken time to cook, as had his conversation with Sam. Still, Castiel believed that hurt feelings should not be put off for another day. "And I made that for you."

"Will you join me for a midnight snack, then?" Castiel asked. Because he was more than willing to be tenacious when the task called for it. "I have brought eggs and rice."

Kevin looked at the humble offerings and then back at Castiel's hopeful face. "You're not gonna let me get a decent night's sleep if I don't say yes, are you?"

"I am not that unreasonable, Kevin. I will merely persist in the early morning if that is what you want," Castiel answered, but Kevin had already opened the door to his room, and Castiel stepped in, setting the small bowl down on the table that Kevin used for research.

"You know I hate eating in my room," Kevin scolded as he broke the disposable chopsticks that Castiel had brought in half and took his share of the food.

"I am sorry, Kevin."

Kevin groaned, closed his eyes as if to gather patience, and then looked back up at Castiel, shrugging one shoulder in a let-it-be gesture. "It happens, Cas. You know, you should let people other than Dean take care of you."

"I am starting to get vexed at the number of times that Dean is brought into the conversation when I am apologizing," Castiel complained, because surely it was not a coincidence that both Sam and Kevin had jabbed that particular wound, "Dean does not make up all of me."

"Yes, but he was a profound _something._"

Castiel was not prepared for another discussion that centered around this. Everyone seemed convinced that there was something broken in him when he had stepped back from Dean's grave and _moved on_. They walked on eggshells around him, and whenever he responded to a situation in a way that was strange to them, they tied it back to Dean's death. They did not seem to understand that he was cut from a different cloth.

"Kevin, I will say this only once, and I hope that I will never have to bring this up with you again," Castiel said in measured tones that leant gravity, "Dean Winchester was the Righteous Man, and I have dedicated my life to him. While others have faith in God, I have faith in _him_. I do not mourn because that would invalidate my belief in him. Whatever _this _is, whatever mistakes I make, it is not because of a misguided sense of loss I have of the Righteous Man, but because I am not infallible and I make mistakes_. _Do you understand?"

"Uh…" Kevin looked at him uncertainly, "no?"

"Humans mourn loved ones because you are parted. You grieve because you have been left behind, and you know in your heart of hearts that you will not see each other again. There is no turning back; you will live the rest of this life without your dead." Castiel put down the food that he'd been eating and he'd looked at Kevin directly, because what he was saying was important and he wanted Kevin to acknowledge his words. "But I am not human in the way that you are human. What is thirty years, what is a hundred? This life is a blink of an eye."

But maybe he needed to explain it in a way that they could understand. That he had faith, and that faith was absolute. He had to believe that Dean would succeed at opening the Gates, had to believe that he would see Dean again, sooner rather than later. Because believing otherwise could break him. An angel was his faith. And Castiel had placed all of his faith in Dean. If he believed nothing else, then it was the fact that Dean Winchester could and would save him.

He had wanted to tell this to Kevin, but the words… they felt inadequate somehow. And even if he did find a way to communicate, he didn't know if other humans could understand the way he felt when they didn't truly believe.

Castiel sighed, trying one last time. "It's like I have a brother who has left me behind in this largely third world country that doesn't have a visa to go to the—"

"That's a very specific analogy you've got going there," Kevin interrupted.

Castiel tried looked stern. There were only a few ways he could explain it, and Heaven, to Cas, seemed more like the other side of the globe than an unattainable third dimension. "As I was saying—This brother of mine got a visa to the United States. I'm left on the other side of the world. I'm too isolated for cell phones, too provincial for letters, and I have no money to get a plane ticket to visit my brother. But he promises me before he leaves that one day he'll get me a ticket and a visa to come visit him. How can I say that it'll never happen, and mourn for him, when he just promised me we would see each other again? It would feel like I don't trust him."

"That sounds like my granddad's story." Kevin grimaced. "With less visa and mourning and more family, so okay, I sorta understand. But you can still be sad about it, you know."

"That's what faith is all about, I guess, an almost seemingly irrational belief." Castiel shrugged as he stared into space. "The moment I spiral down into grief, I remember the promise and it gives me strength. Please, Kevin, do not ask me to grieve."

Kevin looked uncomfortable, so Castiel took back his chopsticks to resume his meal and give the prophet a little respite. Now if he could just convince Sam of this as well.

oOo

Sam, as it turned out, needed to leave the next day. Driving all the way from Lawrence to Lebanon had not really been in his plans, but Kevin had worried about Castiel, so Sam had come to help him.

He had left with a few kind words for Kevin and a warning glance at Castiel. Castiel managed to look contrite and promised to try and remember to inform people of his whereabouts _and_ take care of himself.

Despite worrying his friends, Castiel had found a place to start, and now he just had to find more pieces of the puzzle that was this case. Unfortunately for him, they could not simply visit the Repository of Souls.

Sometimes, he itched for a whiteboard to tack in all the pieces of their cases together, like he'd seen in the police procedurals that Dean sorely hated, but working it out between newspaper clippings, ancient texts, and books were still the mainstay. He had wanted to buy one, but buying things that weren't strictly necessary seemed like a waste when earning money by the usual hunter methods was difficult. Hunting did not a stable job make.

Kevin closed the doors of the bunker and took the steps down two at a time when Castiel announced, "Did you know that when the Repository of Souls empties out, it is another trigger for the Apocalypse?"

"Okay," Kevin said, slowing down as he reached Castiel. "You do realize that that has to be like—the fourth, the sixth, I don't know, the nth—way to kick start the Apocalypse, right?"

"It's the seventh," Castiel answered distractedly. Seven was the holy number. He should not have had to teach the prophet this; it was something that prophets with training were supposed to know. "Seven is the central figure of quantities, especially in _Revelation_."

"There were sixty-six seals," Kevin reminded Castiel.

Castiel looked up from the books and gave Kevin his full attention. "Six is the 'number of the beast,' and it was Lucifer's Cage that we were talking about. There were in fact 666 seals all in all, because that is the sum of the squares of the first seven prime numbers. Of the 666, they only needed to break sixty-six. Still, despite six being associated with Hell, it is sometimes considered a perfect number."

"And we needed the math lesson because?"

"No reason… or maybe so you could better understand portents. And yes, the world has a propensity to fall back to its default state, the Apocalypse. Your scientists got it correct with the second law of thermodynamics," Castiel agreed as he turned back to the books. The universe would always strive for chaos; it was man's intervention that held chaos back.

"And I think you've had enough research for the day, Cas," Kevin pointed out politely before snatching the book that Castiel was reading and closing it, "I can talk thermodynamics and god numbers all you want, but you're usually more coherent than this."

Castiel smiled at Kevin ruefully. "You are a prophet, Kevin. You should realize that we are missing a prophecy. 'And lo, when the last soul has descended, and the _guf_ is empty, the first infant to be born without a soul, born dead as such an infant must be, heralds the death of the world, and is so-called—"

"The Final Sign," Kevin finished, because he was truly a Prophet of the Lord, in whatever capacity that seemed to fit at the moment. The prophet's knowledge would have been more complete had he been allowed to retire in the desert to listen to God's Word. Instead, Kevin was receiving his knowledge in bits and pieces, heavily relying on whatever prophecy was needed at the moment. "We are getting tons of dead infants, Cas. I don't see any other signs _preceding _it for it to be actually called final."

"We are not jump starting the Apocalypse here," Castiel reassured Kevin, because surely if it was an apocalyptic sign, the Prophet of the Lord should have known. "The _guf – _the Repository of Souls – probably still has souls. What it does not have are the messengers to deliver them from the repository to humans."

Kevin mulled over the implications and groaned out loud. "When Metatron closed the Gates, he effectively signed the slow death of all human life? That's practically the same thing as the Apocalypse."

"I do not think Metatron thought through the repercussions of his actions," Castiel admitted, going through the other prophecies in his head. The only way to effectively stop all these stillbirths was to open the Gates of Heaven.

"Cas…" Kevin paused because he knew he was entering dangerous territory again, and it was quite possible that he would be rebuffed. "Did Dean tell you that we deciphered the footnotes of the angel tablet? That we know that the Spell is irreversible?"

Since the Fall and the Closing of the Gates there had been enough attempts at that to know that the Spell was quite irreversible; he didn't need anyone telling him that. Nevertheless, it would have been nice for Dean to tell him that he'd known that for a while. But then, Dean had probably tried to protect his feelings.

"Dean promised me he would find a way to break the Spell."

That probably shouldn't have been his response, because the tentative look in Kevin's eyes had morphed into pity. Maybe because Castiel was still putting his trust in a dead man, or because Kevin did not believe in the promise. Castiel was getting tired of defending himself, of explaining himself to people to curb their pity.

Sometimes, friendship had its pitfalls.

"Kevin, I told you I had faith. It is enough for me that Dean is trying, and that I believe in the stubbornness of the Winchester mold, that he will succeed."

"So that's it, end of the line? We just wait until Dean opens the Gates so that this whole _guf _incident will fix itself?" Kevin asked incredulously, because hunters didn't just sit down and wait for things to get better. They were not an inactive set of people in principle.

"Believing in Dean does not mean we shouldn't try to find another way to get the souls of the Repository to their rightful place," Castiel said with a shrug. It was just a different problem. Castiel reached back to take the book on prophecy that Kevin had stolen from him. "Let's return our focus to the _guf_—any ideas on how to get those souls?"


	5. The Ascension

**Chapter 5: The Ascension**

_The next time the Spell came up was in a hunt involving witches, because that was what it took to make Dean Winchester remember, and sometimes his compartmentalization worked all too well. _

"_I don't think it's been said enough at this point: I hate—"_

"_Witches. Yes, we all know your inherent hatred toward them and their unsanitary bodily fluids. You've mentioned it exhaustively," Castiel deadpanned as he stepped over the witch and picked up a shovel._

_Sam failed to hide laughter behind his hand, and Dean glared at him before focusing on helping Castiel with the packed earth. Sometimes hiding a body in the Midwest was as draining as the actual hunting that prompted said hiding of body. Everybody keeps thinking just because they were burning the body that it turns to ash, nobody seems to realize that that only happens if they were ganking ghosts or demons. Witches on the other hand—witches still had bones and flesh after burning that needed to be hidden in graves and that was plain exhausting._

"_Shut it with the laughter and get digging, chuckles," Dean grumbled as he put his back into breaking the hard soil. "Give me a good old demon any day."_

"_Yes, for some reason, you two just—" Cas paused, searching for a word that would fit, but then seemed to give up, continuing with, "—are appallingly poor at handling witches."_

"_He does have a point," Sam agreed as he heaved more of the earth out. What he wouldn't give for mud and rain at this point. "Most of the witches we've actually hunted never really ended up dead because of us."_

_Dean rolled his eyes, because yes, it would just be like Sam to keep a diary of all things that they'd killed. He wouldn't be surprised if there were bar graphs and statistics._

"_It is rather funny that you think of it that way," Cas said seriously, "because a hunter really dabbles a lot with spells as a whole, and could actually be interpreted as a witch—"_

"_Shut your mouth. I'm a hunter. We are never discussing me and _The Blair Witch Project_ in the same breath again," Dean declared. And just because he didn't want to dwell on Cas' little observation, he groped for the useful thing that did present itself. "Speaking of spells. Metatron. Gates of Heaven. Other than a cupid's bow and your grace, were there any other ingredients we should know about?"_

_Cas muttered something under his breath that Dean didn't quite catch._

"_I can't really hear you when you mumble. Just spit it out."_

_Castiel sighed, put his foot on the blade of the shovel, and stopped to look at Dean. It took Dean several moments of silent digging before he realized that Castiel was waiting for him to look back. "I took the heart of a nephilim."_

_Dean gave him a puzzled look, not only because he'd never heard of the monster, but more because Castiel said it like he feared what they'd think of him afterwards. "What's a nephilim?"_

"_A child of the fallen and man," Castiel said slowly._

_When Dean realized what a nephilim was, Cas tensed. Dean took a deep breath. He'd promised to work it out with the angel. That meant no judgment. "All right. Nothing else?"_

_Cas hesitantly shook his head. Three ingredients. They'd be lucky if the counter-spell was that simple._

"_You know the counter?" Dean asked, and Sam gave him an incredulous look, because right, Dean was supposed to have told Cas that there was no counter-spell. _

_Another shake of Castiel's head, this time accompanied by look that bordered on hope. Was he really that much of a jackass to his angel to receive that much of an astonished reaction when he didn't become all judgmental? Scratch that, he didn't want to think about it. Cas nodded, then offered to go back to the car to get fuel to burn the body. _

_Sam watched Cas go before slapping Dean upside the head. Dean glared at him while rubbing his head. "What the hell, man? I told you Kevin read it was irreversible. I could have told you the ingredients."_

"_I have a plan, Sammy," Dean said confidently, intent on working on his small patch of earth. _

_Sam stopped his shoveling to give Dean a long look. "Okay, what's this plan of yours? Let's hear it."_

"_I'm working on it." Dean had the rest of life to work on it, anyway._

oOo

Dean's attention was brought back to driving by the sharp turn he was forced to make on the road. It was really difficult to get lost in Heaven, as all roads led to the Garden, and the nature of Heaven helped you along as well. You were only as far as you wanted to be.

"Deep thoughts there, dude. I was worried I was going to have to fish you out," Ash said lightly, looking at Dean sideways as he nodded towards the side. There was a green street sign declaring _She'ol: POPULATION 3_, its reflectors catching the midday sun.

Dean steeled, preparing himself for the confrontation. The road tapered off slowly and circled into a roundabout, its center island filled with electric blue lines covering a large, gaping hole that dropped off into an abyss. They circled the Cage, noting the blaze of light in intervals on the Cage's diameter. Dean parked the Impala on the side of the road as Ash jumped out and went around the Cage.

The Cage's lights flared when they moved closer, warning them away from its boundaries. From their higher viewpoint they could see the lines that covered the Cage, which, to Dean, looked like a larger than life Devil's trap: a standard circle with a pentagon, the corners of which were filled with points of a star.

Ash whistled before saying, "It's a Tutte–Coxeter graph! Symmetric, distance-regular, and distance transitive makes for a well-made cage."

Dean went the opposite direction that Ash moved around, because Dean wasn't really into graph theory. On closer inspection, there were points of blue light that dotted the outside of the circle, where the netting from the horizontal net came from. A small flicker of bending light flashed in front of the webbing that spanned across the Cage, reminiscent of the ghosts that Dean used to hunt.

Inside, Michael blazed brightly before dimming down to a more manageable level. He gradually took the shape of his last vessel, Adam, and then became almost corporeal atop the lines that stretched over the hole, the outer circumference buzzing with untapped energy. It forced Dean to face the painful memory of the brother he had left. The brother that he would continue to leave behind.

"My Sword," Michael acknowledged Dean's presence. Dean would never get used to the fact that Michael treated him more like an object than a sentient being. "I doubt that you've come to say 'yes' at last."

Yeah, no. Not even if the world wanted to end again. "I have some news for you."

Michael stared at Dean, unwavering, and if Dean had any sense at all he would have stepped back and dropped eye contact because Michael was intimidating, despite being stuck in a teenager's body. Well, at least Dean now knew where Cas got his stare from. "News that would explain why Raphael has left his post near the Cage?" Michael asked.

Dean couldn't help the wide-eyed disbelief, gaping at Michael. "Okay, you've gotta be a little more up to date than _that._" Dean and self-preservation had never been synonymous. It was a good thing the Cage was pretty well-tested.

There was something that Dean could almost recognize as irritation in the archangel's gaze, but it was held off by another burst of light. Michael tensed against the only being present in the Cage that could do him harm. Since Sam left, Lucifer was incorporeal, but he had been the Morning Star, and despite the fact that his grace was tinged with darkness, he still shone brightly, blinding even. His grace winked out, letting out a soft, rumbling laugh before choosing a form that Dean had seen him wear the most: Nick. He towered over Adam's appearance, giving Dean a small, lazy smile before slotting his chin against the indent of his brother's collarbone.

"Well, you guys seem cozy," Dean muttered, and Lucifer's smile widened.

"Despite circumstances outside of the Cage, my brother would not kill me here." Lucifer transferred his chin from one crook of the neck to Michael's other one, his other arm draping across the shoulder he'd just abandoned. "Death outside of the Cage is the prevention of the Apocalypse, the triumph of good over evil. Death in the Cage is meaningless. And Michael does nothing as petty as _meaningless._" There was mockery in his tone, though the smile never left his face.

If Michael had been the type to be easily goaded, there might have been more of a fight, but Michael just gave Lucifer a small push, eyes still on Dean. "Ignore my brother. He finds what makes people uncomfortable and worries it over and over again."

"Well I'm not exactly _comfortable_ with John Milton here listening in on this," Dean pointed out incredulously. It was to Michael and Lucifer's credit that they got the reference.

"Oh do _please_ let me stay, brother," Lucifer appealed, smile never leaving his face while he stepped away from Michael. He leaned towards the edge of the Cage, its edges again shooting bright lights upward, separating Dean from Lucifer's malice. "I haven't had this much entertainment since they decided to burn a doorway to my abode in Turkmenistan."

"I'm _really_ not here to entertain you," Dean contradicted with a small grimace, his chin lifted up in defiance. Lucifer and entertainment were really not what he wanted to think about.

"Brother, your True Vessel brings news." Lucifer swept his arm out to show the wide latitude of the Cage. For the first time, Dean noticed that the two archangels weren't truly there. They were projections, flickers of light on top of the horizontal bars, limited by the vertical bars. Despite these being projections, they were both powerful enough. "The Cage is in the deepest part of the bottom of the Ninth Circle of Hell, where it's just impossible to get decent conversation. This side of the Cage is guarded by the most annoying of brothers, incorruptible the lot of them. I'm surprised you didn't bring your Guardian in tow."

Dean was appalled at that. "I don't need a guardian."

Lucifer laughed and motioned with a sweep of his hands, manifesting a chair for him to sprawl over, legs wide open in easy invitation. Lucifer gave Dean a lascivious look, bordering on a leer, which bothered Dean enough for him to look away because dealing with a frankly sexual Lucifer was definitely way out of his comfort zone. "Don't you, now?"

Michael sighed in exasperation, and Dean finally understood that, though the brothers fought outside of the Cage, forced in close quarters without the hope for company for an indeterminate amount of time, they had relearned to live with each other. They were brothers, after all. Lucifer had manifested a chair for Michael as well, but instead of sitting on it, Michael leaned forward and braced his elbows on the backrest, eyes on Dean. "I was under the impression that you were here for a reason."

And okay, that sounded like he was about to kick Dean out. And Dean would rather talk with Michael and Lucifer than come up with a dead-end. "The angels are locked out of Heaven."

There was a long pause before either of them reacted. Lucifer raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "All angels? The malakhim? The orphanim? The dominions? The virtues?"

Dean blinked at that. "I understand shit-all of what you said."

"Naomi? Joshua? Castiel?" Michael clarified, because apparently, they had names other than angels and archangels and cupids.

"Naomi's dead. But Joshua and Cas aren't here. There are no angels here—just the souls, and apparently… you," Dean finished, but Lucifer was already laughing, arms hugging his belly as he doubled over.

"We are not simply in Heaven; the Cage is a construct in itself, so we cannot be removed from it by just barring all angels from Heaven," Michael explained absent-mindedly as he eyed Lucifer in his laughter. He turned back to Dean. "A dominion, a virtue and a seraph. It seems it might be true that no angels remain in Heaven. What I do not understand is why you came to the Cage with this news."

Dean froze. Coming to the Cage had been the plan, but he thought Michael would have understood once he'd explained his dilemma. "Uh, invite the angels back in?"

At that Lucifer stopped laughing, blinked out of existence, and reappeared in front of Dean, blocking Michael from view. The only things separating Dean and Lucifer were the bars of the Cage in its ethereal light. "Why would a Prince of Heaven lower himself to do your bidding?"

And all right, maybe it was too big a favor to ask when Dean had denied Michael's own. "They're his brothers."

"They're his _soldiers,_" Lucifer scoffed.

"Enough," Michael growled in a low voice, it was threatening enough for Lucifer to back down and sit on his chair. "How were the angels removed from their home?"

Dean shifted, because before this point in time, he hadn't thought he would have to spell it out for Michael. He had come here thinking that he'd say, "locked out of Heaven," and Michael would know what had happened. He hadn't realized that Michael was not omniscient. "Metatron cast a spell. It kicked everyone out. No one's allowed back in. Lots of death all around in the meteor shower."

"Then I cannot open the Gates of Heaven for your purpose," Michael informed Dean, crossing his arms in front of him before looking Dean in the eye. "I need to be physically out of this Cage for that to happen. To form the counter-spell, I must know the original spell and work on it to deconstruct it."

Yeah, because when had Dean's job ever been as easy as asking someone to please open the Gates for him? The universe never gave him that big of a break, thank you very much.

Lucifer gave a snort. "My brother will not step out of this Cage, not even for you." There was mockery there. "He wouldn't risk burning a path that would allow me to break free."

Well that made sense. Michael didn't seem the type to set Lucifer free, by mistake or by intent. That wasn't even taking into account if he _could_ do so.

"There is a way to invite them back in," Michael said slowly, eyes on Dean. "The Throne has a caretaker, just as the Garden has—_had_—Joshua. He is unschooled in the matter because we were giving him time to prepare for his role—"

"Because you would give the Throne to a _child_!" Lucifer hissed, his angel blade out, already hitting Michael's own, faced off in a battle that they had fought countless of times before.

"This is your problem, brother," Michael pointed out, his movements effortless and the argument old. It was a dance that they have been locked in since Lucifer heard the word "man" and decided against the entire species. "You think everyone is beneath you. He has been more things in creation than you. You have only ever been an archangel and Fallen."

Lucifer laughed; they were at another standstill. It would be thought, based on all the stories that Michael was the stronger angel, that his victory was always a given, but from where Dean was watching, it seemed like Michael and Lucifer were evenly matched, maybe it was because they were both restrained by the Cage. "You forget I was also the cherub that covered Father's throne. Everyone _is_ beneath me."

Dean had never heard cherub used in that context because Cas had definitely used cherubim third class for cupid and that didn't seem to describe Lucifer at all.

In a move that Dean had only seen Gabriel do, Michael raised his fingers to snap. It effectively sent Lucifer away. "I will not be able to hold my brother long." Gone was the permissive brother; in his place was the harsh general that led the troops of Heaven. "The Caretaker of the Throne can always open the Gates of Heaven, once in his place. The Throne is in Aravoth—"

Lucifer returned with his sword held high, attacking Michael. "I will not allow you to tell a human about Aravoth!"

Both Archangels fought in the form of blinding, incorporeal lights, difficult for Dean to follow, if not impossible. It made the earlier display look like mere child's play. Now, Lucifer was out for blood.

"I was under the impression that you didn't have the right to _allow_ me anything, Light Bringer," Michael's voice boomed forth, difficult to pinpoint its source, loud enough to sound like thunder in the almost enclosed space. Eventually they came to an impasse, Michael bearing down his sword on Lucifer, who managed to keep his brother at bay.

Then Michael addressed Dean without looking at him, "Aravoth is the seventh circle. Lucifer and I are in the second. You are in the third." It made for very complicated logistics and completely boggled the mind, if anything made sense in Heaven. "To reach Aravoth, you must go to the Tree of Life. But to enter Aravoth, you must bear my seal, which is located in the fourth—Zebhul. Now, I think you have overstayed your welcome, Dean Winchester."

With those words, the lines collapsed, Lucifer and Michael disappearing under the lights that had flared up when they started fighting.

From the other side of the Cage, Ash ran up to Dean. "What was with that light show? You think you know how to attract the attention of those two?"

How had Ash missed that clusterfuck? Seriously. Dean was going to get nightmares for weeks. And they were in Heaven. Nightmares should be banned on principle. Dean took a deep breath to steady his nerves before jerking his head towards the Impala. "Let's roll."

Ash gave him a confused look before walking back to the Impala, casting one admiring gaze back at the Cage. Dean followed when he felt his nerves were steady enough. "Okay, Ash, ever heard about Lucifer being a fucking cherub before his fall? Because him and cupid don't seem to be in the same weight class."

Ash shrugged, giving the question some thought. "Maybe they restructured after his fall? I dunno man, angelic choirs are both rank and a genus. Like Michael is an archangel, but he seems to be a principality too."

"Okay, none of that cleared anything up for me at _all_ genius," Dean muttered, but he dropped the subject, because there were more important things than what kind of angel Lucifer was, other than insane.

oOo

"_Do you remember your brothers?" Dean asked in a fit of drunken curiosity, and mostly because he wouldn't be this intrusive if he hadn't downed at least a little liquid courage._

"_I have plenty of brothers." Castiel smiled, wrapping his fingers around a bottle of beer, eyeing Dean with curiosity. "What is it that you actually want to know?"_

_Dean laughed because Castiel didn't do anything in a roundabout way. He was direct, to the point, and didn't tolerate beating around the bush. "I dunno, the archangels, I guess."_

"_You're doing it again."_

"_What?"_

"_Forgetting that my family structure is different from yours," Cas said with a fond smile for him. "You think because they're my brothers that we share the same bond as you and Sam."_

_When had Cas become so patronizing?_

_Cas started peeling the label off his beer and laying it out flat on the table, fingertips curling around the edges. In someone else, Dean would have called it a nervous gesture. In Castiel, not so much. He had torn the label into small pieces and grouped them together. "A group of seven angels was a flight; it was the "eyrie unit" for a lack of a better translation. Ten flights would form a garrison. Six garrisons would make a—"_

"_Whoa, I didn't ask for a history of Sparta," Dean interrupted, watching as Castiel arranged the torn label in batches of seven. _

_Castiel shrugged, looking up from the mess he had made. "The archangels were leaders of thousands of angels. We did not know them. We knew and understood most of our flight mates, and sometimes we rotated in the garrison, but we never met the archangels. I had more contact with Gabriel when he was harassing you than when he was the Messenger of God and the Third Archangel."_

"_You don't know them? Not even a small anecdote about Gabriel? Michael?" Dean asked, incredulous._

"_There were more songs about the archangels before the First Fall, before the Morning Star was cast out and became the Evening Light," Castiel revealed, looking up at Dean. "All of our songs were Gloria before there was darkness."_

_Dean frowned; all he knew of the archangels was that they were bigger dicks than the rest of the angels. "Never met them, huh?"_

_There was a faraway look in Castiel's eyes as he took the scraps and piled them together. "There was one instance. I had been captain of a malakh choir for some time when they assigned me a task of utmost importance, a task that I could not fail. The members of my garrison were handpicked by the Archistrategos himself."_

"_The Archistrategos?" Dean asked, wondering if he'd missed half of the conversation because of the booze._

"_One of Michael's many designations," Castiel informed him. "It means the commander-in-chief."_

_Dean nodded, accepting the fun fact, and waved his hand to get Cas to go on. _

"_He assembled all of us before the Gates of Heaven and flared his wings out so that we would fall in their shadow. At the time I thought it was terribly pompous of him, but in retrospect it had probably been a Blessing._

"_As captain of the choir, he singled me out and repeated everything we knew of the circles of Hell, which was condescending because these were things that even a new fledgling in the garrison would have known. You have to understand that this had been prophesied, and we had known about it since we were created." Castiel fisted all the ruined paper in his hand and sighed. "But that last song, that last patronizing, humiliating song, that was the hymn that carried me through when I was in the last circle of Hell, and I had no other light to guide me."_

"_Wait, what?" This suddenly felt familiar, way more personal than a story that they were using to pass the time._

_Castiel looked up to meet Dean's eyes. "For what it's worth, no matter how arrogant and overbearing you think Michael is, he does care for you, in a way. He is the angel of righteousness, and we were sent to retrieve his vessel. His song was what helped me through Hell when I had almost lost hope. It was the guiding light that led me to the brightness of your soul."_

oOo

No matter how many times Dean managed to enter the Garden, it never ceased to amaze. It was vast, perpetually changing, despite the fact that, for Dean, it was fixed mostly as a botanical garden.

By now, Dean was used to its splendor, but if they had time, he still would have lingered. There was a reason why the Garden was also called Paradise, and it called to all souls that passed through. It was also why the Garden was one of his most visited places when he found out that he could travel the axis mundi without aid.

But this wasn't a sightseeing trip, and the path to the Tree of Life was well used. Ash whistled a low tune as they approached the falls.

"So Michael said the Tree of Life, not the Tree of Knowledge?" Ash asked.

"I didn't even know there was more than one tree," Dean muttered, stopping in front of the makeshift pew that he usually used for the entire reincarnation gig.

Ash gave him a skeptical look. "That does not bode well for this little trip that you're making. After actually setting foot in the Garden, didn't you even try to read Genesis?"

Dean looked at Ash, appalled. "Man, have you _seen_ the pages of the Bible? Those are onionskin thin. Give me the SparkNotes version."

"It's not important as long as you know it's this tree. If anything that you read could be believed, it was planted at the beginning of time with its twin," Ash said with a bit of awe. Getting to the Tree was not much of a problem. Finding out how it worked was another thing all together. "How are you going to use it?"

"I dunno," Dean muttered as he stared at the Tree of Life. He would have pegged it as any other ash tree if he hadn't known better. The "beginning of time" made the Tree sound old as fuck, and as such it was a large tree; climbing it would be indomitable. "Mr. High-and-Mighty didn't exactly give me instructions."

Ash looked back up at the Tree and squinted. Staring at it too long could cause dizzy spells (Dean should know, he's stared at it one time too many), the ripe souls falling from the flowers to the abyss. "Well, if Yggdrasil was based off this tree, then it connects all realms. It's another quantum superposition for you."

Dean was starting to really hate that term. Why couldn't something just exist in one place like _normal? _"Don't you have a damned map somewhere?"

Ash pursed his lips in thought. "There's the map of the ten sephirot. If what Thing One and Thing Two said is true, then we can assume there're seven heavens. And then there's Hell, there's Earth, and there's Purgatory. That kind of makes it an even ten, if we don't count the Circles of Hell. Buuut this isn't an exact science."

"Alrighty," Dean said, looking up at the trunk of the Tree, which looked like it was accessible from some steps.

The roots were mostly covered by the falls, but that was several hundred feet below where they were standing. A mountain, which kind of reminded him of trekking in Purgatory, surrounded part of the trunk. So the only trouble was getting from the exposed part of the trunk up to the branches, but that in itself looked like a hell of a climb.

"The Tree is highly symbolic… soo maybe the shallow roots represent Earth, the deep ones are Hell and Purgatory, and the branches are Heaven. And then most of the trunk could be like this great gulf between all those realms and Heaven," Ash posited.

"Okay, how is that supposed to help me use it?" Dean asked.

Ash shrugged. "I don't know but the Righteous Man, as vessel for the Archangel Michael is the closest we have to anything remotely angelic now that Joshua's been thrown out of Heaven with the rest of the angels. The Tree could see you as its only gardener, at least here in the third heaven."

Huh, its mostly absent gardener, then. Dean looked at the Tree sideways, tracing the branches with his eyes, and noticed that most of its foliage joined the branches of the dense trees that formed the Garden's canopy.

He frowned as he walked farther from the Tree, following one of its lower branches. "Hey Ash, ain't that offshoot closer to the ground?" Dean pointed to a low-hanging limb that curved slowly away from the Tree and dipped away from its main trunk.

Dean started with a fast walk, then ended up in a jog following the branch until it landed on the understory of the forest floor, surrounded by purple flowers and white lilies. A small sprout that could grow into a tree someday was sheltered underneath the massive branch.

"Okay, that's a bit more doable."

Dean stepped over one of the purple flowers and grasped the branch, which was still as thick as an entire person. It was rough and warm to the touch, but it was as if the Tree acknowledged his presence, its leaves rippling in welcome, its flowers shining brightly, even the ones intermittently dropping towards the waterfalls.

"Well _that_ seemed like a greeting to me," Ash huffed out, hands propped on his thighs after the short jog. He watched Dean and the Tree's interaction. "Try asking it for a map."

"Uh?" Talking to a tree seemed a bit stupid to Dean. But hell, it was the closest thing to a sentient being that knew anything around these parts, so maybe it was worth a shot. And besides… why settle for a map? "I could use a little help here. I kind of need a stairway to uh… the fourth heaven."

There was a moment, as if the world held its breath, and then the branch gave a small undulation, a push against Dean's hand. Then the bark split open, layers upon layers peeling back to show its inner bark, the sapwood, and finally its innermost sheet.

There were rivers of light flowing through the Tree, lines upon lines of life, which disappeared towards the main trunk. The lines flared brighter over several parts, forming a crude hexagon, its angles replaced with large spheres. The area where Dean was standing was a small sphere, its boundaries held by the shrubbery he'd stepped over.

"Okay, there's your map." Ash stepped back and tried to take in all the lines as a whole. The other spheres dimmed as one of them across the tree trunk intensified, and the lines from Dean's part of the Tree that connected it to the other side radiated an intense, burning light. "And I guess you're standing on what corresponds to the third heaven."

"You coming?" Dean asked, gripping the bough with one hand, his other, shielding his eyes from the sudden play of light. "It feels like Christmas here."

"I gotta tell Ellen, Bobby, and everybody else where you went, or they might suddenly try to break out of their heavens to form a search party." Ash made a shooing motion with his hands and nodded. "Fourth heaven awaits."

_Oh, God,_ Dean thought as he brought his other hand towards the heart of the branch, where the lines were brightest. The bark started to fold upon itself to hold him in, the lines almost burning in their intensity until he had to close his eyes against them, and he was enveloped in the Tree's warm glow.


	6. The Scourging

**Chapter 6: The Scourging**

Dean opened his eyes to find himself in an immense field with a lake at the center. He was standing at another circlet of shrubs like the one in the third heaven, but this one consisted of more aquatic plants. The large bough of the tree rose and converged on the foliage that created the Tree of Life. Unlike the Garden, here in the fourth heaven, the Tree stood on a solitary hill, its branches casting shadows over the huge lake and extending towards both ends.

There were six gates on the eastern horizon and another six gates in the west. Dean narrowed his eyes. The third heaven was filled with souls building life after death; its epicenter, the Garden, was bursting with life. In contrast, the fourth heaven felt barren, devoid of the richness that was the third heaven. Although there was the Tree and the grass, and even a flock of birds sitting on the Tree filling the air with trills and songs, the place felt largely abandoned.

If this was the fourth heaven and Michael made his home here, then this space was probably cleared for all the troops that he commanded. A training ground for angels of sorts, ringing empty now that they were thrown out.

Dean mentally flipped a coin before traveling east. It was as good a place as any to start looking for Michael's seal. "And hey, if I'm wrong, I get to walk all the way back to the other side of this world," Dean told himself.

Talking to himself _and_ sarcasm. Well, this was off to a good start.

Reaching the first of the gates did not prove too difficult. After all, there was an advantage to not needing rest, food, or other bodily discomforts. The gates were made of solid gold, which was surprisingly lighter than what he'd expected. But it was probably more because he was a soul passing through Heaven than it was because he'd gained superpowers—that would be plain weird.

It opened to a sunken garden, green with grass and surrounded by weathered stones that could be used as temporary seats. At its center, stones piled upon each other, forming an altar, its top blackened with the soot of earlier offerings. On closer inspection, there was a small indent on the pedestal's surface, indicating its frequent use.

"Oh, dude, no. Michael's things are all on the other side of the city of gold? Just great."

The glint of the gates caught his eye, and he realized that though he had not tired from the journey, the sun was beginning to set, marking the end of an entire day. He did not plan to spend the night outside the gates, mostly because it was an open field and he did not like sleeping in the open, Heaven or not. His father would disown him for ignoring hunter's training just because he was dead.

He came up to the altar and sifted through the char of previous offerings on the side. They seemed like burnt letters, with some of the old letters still showing the tail end of a word. He was dusting his hands of the offerings when he noticed a large pile of unattended letters on the ground beneath the altar. He opened one of them, skimmed, and stopped at the Trinitarian formula, marking the letters as prayers. Each of the letters had a different name written on the front, which Dean assumed were from whoever was praying at the moment.

And okay, since his prayers came in the form of letters, and—if what Ash said was true—Dean was the only gardener, it stood to reason that Heaven had accommodated him so that it would fit his understanding. These were the prayers to God. Michael probably had offered them until they'd locked him in the Cage.

Sighing, Dean set out to create a pyre and burn the prayers. He was already staying the night. Might as well complete Michael's chores.

He ended up burning most of them in a separate pile because the altar couldn't contain all of them in one go. Watching the flames lick up, Dean decided he'd had it for the day, so he balled up his coat and made his bed for the night.

oOo

Dean was disoriented when he woke up standing and staring out at sterile, white hallway. He would have pegged it as a dream because it was filled with fuzzy edges and lack of minute details, but he'd never been this lucid in his dreams. His dreams had been filled with home, contentment, and apple pies. Barring that, his nightmares were filled with Hell, abandonment, and torture; so these neutral walls of white were unusual, to say the least.

"_Confíteor Deo omnipoténti, istis Sanctis et omnibus Sanctis et tibi frater—"_

He turned towards the gruff sound, a vividly remembered voice, and gaped in horror. Castiel was kneeling in the middle of the hallway, the space he occupied drenched with the bright red of his blood. It was jarring in the fact that it was the only color that shone vividly.

"—_quia peccavi in cogitatióne, in locutione, in pollutione mentis et corporis—"_

The reverberation of the whip that was _self-inflicted_ jarred him out of his stupor, and he ran towards Castiel, intercepting the lash that the angel was about to use on himself.

"—_in ópere, ópere et omissióne: mea culpa—"_

Cas looked up from the kneeling position, his litany broken halfway through. Blue eyes were staring out from a wash of blood that was his face, caused by a crown of thorns. "Dean?" It was small, incredulous, and said in soft hope. What had he done to deserve faith like that?

"Cas, what the fuck?" Dean demanded as he disarmed the angel, taking the whip away and setting it behind his back so that hopefully Cas wouldn't be able to reach it. There seemed to be more blood than what was warranted for such a small whip, so it must have been going on for longer than Dean had observed. But then it was a _nightmare,_ so nothing made sense. It wasn't just the whip; there was what seemed to be a crown of thorns and two metal chains with hooks wrapped around both of Cas' upper thighs.

"Did they send you here to test my faith?" Castiel whispered brokenly, and Dean noted that there was blood soaking through visible wings, and that clinched this being dreamland because he'd been in Heaven before and hadn't seen anything other than the shadow of the appendages.

"Oh, god, Cas, _no_." Dean shrugged out of one of his many flannel shirts and tried to wipe the blood off the angel's face. "What kind of fucked nightmare is this?"

Castiel furrowed his brows and cocked his head to the side while Dean was cleaning his face slowly. "Nightmare? But… angels don't have nightmares. We don't have _dreams._"

"So maybe you're in one of mine, huh?" Dean joked humorlessly as he gripped Cas' forearm and heaved him up to a standing position.

Castiel gave a full body shudder. "I lost the ability to dreamwalk when I lost my grace. I can't be in one of yours."

"Are we going to argue semantics here? I'd rather have a chair or a bed preferably, somewhere we can get you off your knees." Dean looked around, but the white halls were bare of anything. Until suddenly they weren't; they were in the bunker, in the small almost-empty room that Cas had claimed as his own. "Well… I certainly didn't ask for that."

"It appears you were correct the first time. This is my dream," Castiel affirmed, now clean of blood and whole. Dean made sure that Cas wouldn't start trying to beat himself up again before letting him go. "I might have dreamed a couple more times before this and never realized."

That made the entire scene more disturbing, because that means that _Castiel _had thought he deserved such a brutal punishment, or his subconscious did. Dean couldn't bring himself to ask why Cas was punishing himself, because in Dean's mind, Cas had atoned enough. What sins could Cas be punishing himself for now? Dean settled on saying, "Hey, man, it's good to see you."

Castiel tilted his head to the side, something that Dean had not seen Cas do since he'd learned how to be a less awkward human being. He was wearing the trench coat and tie that he used before the Fall. Even though clothes similar to those he wore before the Fall had been bought and stored in the bunker, Cas refused to wear them without his grace and had gotten rid of the trench coat when he had lost his powers.

"This is real," Castiel realized. "This is a sending. It's not just my dream, but an apparition."

"Um… I guess?" Dean shrugged as he looked for a place to sit in Cas' room. "I was lying down in the temple in the fourth heaven, and you came in trying hard to _DaVinci Code_ yourself into the frigging floor."

"You're in Michael's abode. This is why you can do the sending. It recognizes you as him. For a while... I thought that you were actually him. That he took you as a vessel." After Cas pieced that together, he surged forward and locked Dean in an embrace, comforting and at the same time an affirmation that even though this was in a dream, it was really happening. That this was more communication than imagination. "What are you doing in Zebhul? You should be in Shehaqim, in your own heaven."

"I pulled a Thor and followed the rainbow bridge past Asgard," Dean quipped, because he was just funny that way.

Cas stepped back to look at Dean, his eyes narrowed in suspicion before flattening out in exasperation. "This conversation would go a lot smoother and faster if you would stop referring to movies I haven't watched. The Norse gods are angrier in life than the movies."

"Oh god, you should watch more things in your downtime, Cas, because the TV is God's playground brought to life," Dean pointed out as he found a seat on the small desk that Castiel had dragged from the one of the libraries into his room. "Besides I get lost with all the Zebra and Sheikh that you keep mentioning."

"Zebra and Sheikh? Zeb-hul. She-ha-kim." Castiel sounded out each syllable for Dean slowly. Cas shook his head at him before continuing with, "I have a hunt right now. There's no downtime. It's frustrating me to no end."

"What's it about?"

There was a beat of silence. "The souls in the Tree of Life aren't being delivered because there has been a dearth of messengers on your side of the gate."

"But we've managed to bring some souls to the falls if they want out of Heaven," Dean protested. He wouldn't accept it if all that effort of baptizing didn't make a dent in the world.

Castiel smiled for the first time since their meeting. "You would. You're probably the only soul that would have a hunt in Heaven."

"It's crazy up here, man. I'm grasping at straws," Dean said, frustration showing in the furrow of his eyebrow and the hard press of his lips. "No one knows how Heaven works. I don't even know how to go up to the Throne in Aravoth."

"Michael holds all of Heaven's keys, and you need the one to Aravoth to enter the last gate. That's why you're in Zebhul," Castiel murmured. "The key you're looking for should be in the Moon's Gate, across the plains from the Altar, past the 150,000 angels of the garrison training under his tutelage during the day, and the twelve winged angels circling the sun."

"Ain't none of that here." Because if there was one thing Dean was going to use to describe the fourth heaven, he would have called it empty.

"The stars have fallen." There were no angels in heaven. It sounded like the beginnings of a prophecy written in a stone tablet. And if it wasn't, then it damn well should be. "I guess you would be in a barren place without Heaven's soldiers."

"What do the old dickbag's keys look like, anyway?" Dean asked, because it was probably going to be a rare time where he could pick _anyone's_ brain with regard to Heaven, and he wasn't wasting it.

"The keys should be however you would picture yourself being allowed in the highest, holiest circles of Heaven," Castiel explained. There were perks to Heaven listening to Dean most of the time. It was high time him being the Righteous Man worked out in his favor. "Metatron's influence should only extend to his immediate area. He will be staying in Aravoth, so until that point, it's mostly up to you."

That was Ash's theory anyway. The only gardener crap was true, if that was the case. Good to know that they actually had some things going their way. "Anything on your end that I could look up for you?"

"Is the Repository of Souls empty?" Cas shook himself once, then clarified, "Is the Tree still producing the souls that my Father created at the beginning of time?"

"If you mean 'is the Tree still dropping bright comets of flowers into a great waterfall and being a blindingly twinkling Christmas tree,' then yes, you're still good."

Castiel stared at Dean for a moment, and Dean for discomfort and lack of anything else to say, returned it. Just as Dean had focused entirely on Castiel, the scenery changed into the front of the falls, Castiel sitting on the rock and staring out at the Tree. It broke the staring match for a while. If he hadn't been disoriented, Dean would have admired Castiel for managing the dream so well. If angels didn't dream, they certainly understood the mechanics of it well enough. Cas was doing well on his first lucid dream.

"Yeah that looks about right," Dean confirmed motioning towards the Tree.

"Then at least we're not going through another Apocalypse," Castiel said in mild relief as they watched the souls drift peacefully towards the falls, infusing it with their bright light. Cas smiled ruefully. "Just something like it, then. I think I can handle 'something like it'."

"Awesome," Dean muttered as he settled beside Cas.

He had watched the falls many a time during the in-between moments, but it was the first time he'd actually sat down with company. It felt like a Sunday afternoon at the park. It was as close to picnic Sundays as they were going to get.

"You ah—you handling things okay down there?"

Cas turned his full attention to Dean from the falls, his eyebrows drawn in a frown. "There are enough people who worry about me, if that is what you mean. You know I can take care of myself. You once let me out in the world on my own, and I coped well enough; I even got myself a job."

Okay, that wasn't what he'd meant. He had already felt bad about the entire kicking Cas out like a wounded puppy, not to mention the lying to Sam part when 'Ezekiel' had taken over. He didn't want a rehash of that pain. "Look, I apologized for that already, Cas—dammit, I—"

"Dean. I'm not looking for an apology. I was even a little proud of myself for being independent from the Winchester brothers," he said those words fervently, like it had been a great accomplishment. "That I am my own person away from you. That I am not _useless_ without my grace. That my grace doesn't define me, and neither do _you_."

Wow. That. Dean hadn't expected that to hurt. He knew that he was the one who'd sent Castiel away all those years ago, and he had been the one to walk away when Cas was pretending to be _Steve_ even, but after all this time, he'd expected Cas to be simply _there_, to understand_._ And maybe that had been selfish of him.

Well okay, it was time to wake up. That was what he got for trying to talk feelings. Those kinds of talks never worked out well. Dean stood up and started to walk away because he didn't know anything about dream walking at _all _and walking away seemed parallel to waking up_._

"That said, I do miss your company," Castiel continued, and Dean took a moment to readjust his reality. _Way to go there, Cas; break me and mend me in the same breath._ "I had always thought that your death would be insignificant; that I could visit you and it would almost be as it was in life, because I am an angel, and we cross dimensions and time. If I missed you, I could see you here, and if I wanted a moment, I could cheat even that and steal back to 2009 and just relive that until I was called back home. But then there was the Fall, and the Gates locked down. I am _human_ now, and suddenly, I feel like I've taken you for granted."

Dean hadn't expected _that_, either. "No, Cas, goddamn it, I don't think anyone could have predicted the epic proportions of how the world failed you." Dean walked back to Cas, who'd suddenly changed the setting, and now they were sitting at two park benches that seemed awfully familiar, but Dean couldn't exactly place them. He drew up short, because all the scenery changes were disorienting, but Castiel was familiar with dreams, and he worked them more fluidly than Dean could with his own.

"Regardless… I feel like I may have been lying to everyone around me for all this time." Cas nodded toward the park bench that Dean had occupied in this particular scene. It seemed like Cas was through with confessions because in the next breath, he changed the subject completely, "This is one of my favorite memories." And Dean was absurdly grateful for that because he could dredge no answer that would be enough to answer Cas' uncertainty.

Dean eyed the entire park speculatively, then looked back at the bench that he'd sat down in years ago before sinking into that seat. He finally remembered the case this memory belonged to, and it hadn't been a happy time for either of them. "Breaking a seal, raising Samhain, _that's_ your favorite memory?"

"Sharing my doubts, learning to be human," Castiel corrected him, in the same gravelly tone he'd always used. "I think I'm going to wake up soon, Dean. I can't keep this connection forever. Kevin will worry."

"Kevin's still with you, huh? That's good." Kevin was at least one person that they'd managed to keep safe. Kevin and Cas were good together; they could define themselves apart from each other. They had none of the co-dependency that he and Sam shared, in any case. "That douchebag angel we forced out of Sam's body not making any more attempts at Kev's life?"

"The angel pretending to be Ezekiel… the rogue Gadreel, you mean?" Cas asked, although if Dean never heard the name again, it would still be too soon. 'Ezekiel' trying to kill Kevin had been sudden, and thankfully, unsuccessful. The mere fact that Ezekiel had done so after he found his old vessel and attempted more than once meant that Kevin being dead was important to him. "We strengthened angel wards around Kevin's rooms. Many say Gadreel has been spotted at Metatron's side—he may have attempted to attack a few more times, but Kevin and I have been looking out for each other."

At least Kevin was safe, and Cas had found the name of the douchebag angel—good to know. They could try finding out more about Gadreel, but unless the angel resurfaced, they were at an impasse. Even Castiel hadn't recognized the impostor when he and Castiel had been face to face. Dean would forever be grateful that Kevin's sigil had worked against Gadreel and Sam had taken back his consent. It had been a rough few months trying to heal Sam, but at least the rogue angel had done a halfway good job at healing Sammy, enough to tide him over. "Anything to help me with navigating _Stargate_ here?"

"If you mean Heaven, then you're doing well. Heaven molds itself depending on its creator's will, it is not stagnant like the mortal plane. Shehaqim is the mortal sandbox—the third circle, but the higher circles all belong to the angels. The Tree will guide you to an extent. The guardians of the gates do not stand in attention because all the stars have fallen, but beware The Scribe, for he will most certainly find ways to keep you out."

That sounded more prophetic than actually helpful, but then Dean should have been used to Castiel being vague. There was only a finite amount of time that they had, and the information just wasn't something that could be downloaded via the two-finger-tap approach that Castiel had used when he was still a fully graced-up angel. "What do you know about the Caretaker?"

"You mean Joshua?" There was confusion again. And that certainly didn't bode well for information.

"No, the Caretaker of the Throne."

"I was not aware that the Throne had a particular caretaker other than the seraphim that attend to it." Since the angels were on Earth, finding out how little the foot soldiers knew about the upper ranks had stopped to be surprising. "I don't know who to ask for that information, but I will try."

"Yeah, I don't think I can visit you again anytime soon," Dean muttered, noting that the scenery was starting to break up, getting fuzzier around the edges.

Cas gave him a long, sad smile. "I pray to you almost every night, Dean. Information shouldn't be that difficult to pass from me to you."

In the next breath, Dean was sitting up beside an altar mysteriously devoid of the ashes that he'd just burnt for kindling and offering. He felt cheated that he hadn't had the time to form a defense to that.

oOo

_Dean was desperate, his hand wet from activating the blood sigil in the bunker's storeroom. He didn't know how long the sigil would last and he had too much to explain as he pleaded with Sam. "We can do this later. You can kick my ass all you want. Right now, we have bigger problems."_

"_Bigger?" Sam asked with restrained patience._

"_The angel lied to me, okay? He's—" Dean paused, not knowing how to explain this in words that Sam would accept. "He's not who he said he was. He said his name was Ezekiel, cool guy according to Cas, but it's not Ezekiel. 'Cuz apparently Ezekiel is dead and you have to dump him."_

_Sam had a small curl on his lip, the one he used when he was annoyed and had a few choice words to say to Dean, but held himself back because he understood 'bigger problems.' He closed his eyes, and Dean was frustrated that whatever Sam was going through right now Dean had no idea what it was, nor did he know who was winning._

_But then, after a few thumps of the heart that felt like forever, iridescent, white light streamed out of Sam, until finally, Dean had to look away or be blinded by its intensity. Sam staggered forward, and Dean finally let go of the sigil to catch his brother, the angel formerly known as Ezekiel streaming out of the bunker, being repelled by the bunker's natural protections._

"_Next time, Dean, give me a choice," Sam muttered before he fell limp, fully unconscious now._

_It took a while for Dean to lug his brother to his room, big moose of gangly limbs Sam was, but with the help of Kevin, Dean's brother was now fully asleep and resting. With a muttered thanks to Kevin for staying silent about the sigil and trusting Dean to get them through, Dean flipped open a phone to call back the number Cas had left for him to contact._

"_Took care of the Ezekiel problem," Dean muttered. "You can… come in the bunker now. How the hell did you get away from your dick angel torturers, man?"_

_There was a moment of silence. "I killed my guard and torturer slipped through the back door. I was chained, the door was… not. An angel's downfall lies in their inability to believe their own fallibility. I was chained and being watched, therefore a door is an insignificant barrier."_

"_Uh, okay, so you got lucky. Where are you? All of us need to be together man, none of this going our separate ways crap anymore," Dean explained._

"_All right," Cas agreed. There was the sound of Cas rummaging around before a hiss of frustration. "I'll let you know where I am as soon as I find out. The lack of grace limits what information I can access and my mobility."_

"_Grace? That's overrated; it's why we have gizmos for everything instead. Turn on your GPS, Cas," Dean instructed. He waited until the former angel managed to rattle off his general area. "That's not too far. Kevin can hold the batcave while I pick you up."_

"_All right." There was a short pause on the line before Cas continued with, "Although I did not know that there were bats in the bunker, Dean."_

_Dean huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, Cas? Never change."_

oOo

Dean didn't know what he'd expected Michael's part of Heaven to look like, but Spartan certainly wasn't it. He had worried how he was going to pick out what was Michael's from all the other angels, but he shouldn't have. The moon's gate held barracks and one single story house located near the soldiers'.

Michael's doors were adorned with six pairs of bronze-plated, heraldic, burning wings, which probably reflected Michael's own, with his sword drawn through the center.

Maybe because of the green room, Dean had expected something more opulent from Michael, but the Archistrategos' home had a single room washed with white, and a low bed. In the center of the house was a small garden, where a small personal altar was located.

"If I were a bad-ass angel, where would I keep my precious?" Dean muttered as he approached Michael's utilitarian desk. On it was an inkwell made of brass and a quill that glowed in the evening light. Its vane was a deep emerald-green, but fiery and curled at the edges. Dean was not going to touch that because it might actually be Michael's feather, and that was eerie enough, thank you very much. Beside the pen and parchment, there was a small bowl of pewter where Dean found a key whose wire bow held two shanks, one end shorter than the other. "Arch-dick has the key to the Dead Man's Chest, huh? Awesome."

He pulled out the key and knotted the twine attached to it around his neck, tucking the key under his shirt to keep it safe. The bronze was warm against his skin, even though it had been left alone for who knows how long, and there was almost a soft vibration, similar to when a tuning fork was emitting its pure musical tone. Quest officially underway now that he had the beginnings of something, Dean marched out of the archangel's house to find that the fourth heaven had changed while he was inside.

Outside, the sun was already blazing hot, with twelve glorious phoenixes playing around its coronal loops, and some jumping along with prominence and playing with the flares.

As they played, a soft and sweet chorus, almost impossible to describe, came from them. What had once been a flat land was suddenly surrounded by rivers filled with, upon closer inspection, milk and honey.

Abandoned on the field were various weapons, and Dean knew that when they had been kicked out, the angels had been in their usual routine. But also there were instruments for their never-ending song. Cymbals, organs, and an occasional harp lay on the ground.

Dean raised an eyebrow at all that, then hooked the key of Aravoth from his neck. As soon as the warm metal left his skin, the fourth heaven settled into what he'd seen before: empty grassland and golden buildings: magnificent all by itself but without the enchantment and life that the other creatures inhabiting it had bestowed. He put the key back, and the phoenixes blazed back to life, the song continuing.

"Alrighty then, I got me a totem showing paradise. How is this my life?" Dean muttered as he left the path and began walking back towards the Tree, sightseeing over. When Tessa had brought him over, he had never imagined that this was how he was going to end up in the afterlife of all things.

oOo

_The hut at the end of the axis mundi was like Sam's own headspace when he was talking with Death. Except this time, it was Tessa who was leading him "towards the light". She stopped at the gate and gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "We're coming to a close."_

"_So what, this entire road is equal to my life flashing before my eyes?" Dean asked skeptically, looking back at the asphalt road that they'd just exited to go into his final destination. "I expected more flash and less road."_

"_Would you have wanted anything less? It's a journey and a last farewell for you mortals. You carry so much baggage in your memories that sometimes you choose the veil, if you're not granted this one last look. Mortals keep their regrets like their plants, nurtured until they grow unmanageable." Reaching for the fire, Tessa ushered him through the small hut. He raised an eyebrow, and she gave him another reassuring smile. "Come on. Though this is the end of the axis, we're not stopping yet." _

_She looked back at the road, her eyes guarded, until he bumped shoulders with her, giving her a reassuring smile. "Hey tour guide, you're spacing out."_

_Tessa shook her head as she opened the backdoor and pushed him through to see a small lake that he'd dreamed about once. "You forget that I'm your personal reaper. We've reached this point more than once, and we have always, always had to step back from this final step. I was waiting for something to go wrong." Yeah, he couldn't blame her for her apprehension._

_But he'd made peace with the world, and with the last time that a Winchester died and the entire clusterfuck of arguments that it had caused, he expected that Sam would move on and let him stay dead. Hunters almost always died young. And Cas, well, Cas defined death a little more loosely than a human would. Long-lived beings tended not to hold on to life as chokingly hard compared to mortals. He assured Tessa by taking the last steps himself._

_Dean raised an eyebrow as he took in the scenery, noted the small dock, the fishing rod left beside a small tackle box and a lounge chair, as if its owner had stepped out for a bit to grab a cold drink and would return momentarily._

_Dean gave her a cheeky grin, and she nodded in the direction they came from. In place of a hut was a small bungalow that had a beaten dirt path framed on either side by thorny bushes, which had lost all their leaves to the season._

"_I never knew you dreamed of fishing," Tessa said fondly._

"_Because hunter and downtime came in hand in hand a lot," Dean flung out as he sat down in the comfortable chair testing the seat. It felt like he'd come home._

_Tessa gave him a small smile. "Farewell, then Dean Winchester. May our next meeting be a long time in coming."_

_He turned to her to watch her go, but as most supernatural creatures went, they usually had the advantage of the entire appearing, disappearing thing._

_Dean shook his head. He was dead. Surely reapers couldn't reap you again in the afterlife. But then, he was a Winchester; coming back from the dead was almost the norm. And, like most things that Dean did not want to think about, he pushed it to the back of his mind in favor of casting his line and waiting._

oOo

_Yeah okay, more of the same. Who needed endless fishing, anyway? _Dean thought as he approached the Tree of Life. He held out his hand to the Tree's branches, its bright light blinding him, before requesting, "Dial me seventh heaven."


	7. The Presentation

**Chapter 7: The Presentation**

Waking up was something that Castiel would never get used to. He may have slept, and understood its function in terms of rest, but the jarring moment between sleep and wakefulness, when the mind realized that the body was awake, the transition from foggy to alert, was something that he could do without. Not to mention the four to five hours that he'd spent unaware of anything beyond dreams and his REM cycle.

He glared at the digital clock announcing that it was 11:00 in the morning, and that he'd overslept. Because he'd decided that 'overslept' was the term he was going to use instead of 'visitation from Heaven' and no one was going to say otherwise.

He threw his arm over his eyes. That entire exchange had been emotionally draining. Never mind the fact that he hadn't thought he was capable of dreams prior to this. The vast ability of the human mind to compartmentalize and forget was something he held both in respect and not a little amount of terror. What vast amounts of dreams had he been stumbling into for the past years and never known?

Castiel didn't even want to dwell on his penitence, the deep whisper of his mind that told him that he had never been the hero of this story. What he was, was a former angel and a Judas who had never been brought to trial. It seemed that he could never atone _enough._

He peeked at the watch again. 11:15. Where was his time going? When he had been 'all mojo-ed up,' as the Winchesters called it, time didn't seem to matter as much as it did now. With his wings and his grace, he had been able to move at blinding speed and go back in time to do the things he had missed. Now, there were so many things to do and so little time to do them.

He sighed as he dragged himself out of bed to pick the cleanest set of clothes he could find in his closet. He had choices, never mind that he mostly wore a white button down anyway. The mere fact that he was allowed choices, instead of the standard dark-pinstripe that the usual angels wore, was still a novelty despite the years that he had been allowed it.

There was a perfunctory knock before Kevin peeked between the doors. "I heard you moving around and figured you were up, sleepy-head," Kevin greeted from the doorway.

"I had—" Castiel stopped rummaging between slacks to choose the most appropriate word, "—a rather disquieting night filled with blood and hauntings."

"You could have just said that you had a nightmare."

Castiel hid a small smile as he closed his cabinet. "Where's the fun in that?"

Kevin looked at him for a moment, apparently unsure on how to respond to a decidedly chipper Castiel. To give Kevin credit, Castiel was rather unsure on how to respond to the way he had woken up, either.

"So where are we going today?" Kevin asked. They had been making slow progress on the souls in the _guf_, but they had read most of the myths and enough of the lore inside the bunker to have a good idea where to look. Besides, they were a team consisting of a former Angel of the Lord and an unschooled prophet. It seemed like this case should be right up their alley—at least, more so than the werewolves and witches littering the standard hunter logbook.

"I'm going to the cemetery before trying to meet the angel garrison stationed the next city over," Cas decided, because there was truly nothing else he could do after a sending like that but show his respects. And he was due for a visit.

Kevin furrowed his brow; he probably couldn't think of a reason to visit a cemetery when they were hunting for souls and angels who could pinpoint whereabouts of those with said souls. "Do you want company?"

The correct answer to that was probably yes. But there was always something personal about visiting Dean's grave that Castiel believed was solely his. "It's always best to visit a garrison with someone you would trust to have your back," Castiel conceded.

"All right, I'll wait for you to pick me up then?"

oOo

Dean had died as most hunters did, in the middle of nowhere. He had been honored with a hunter's funeral by fire and salt. Instead of having his ashes scattered or placed in an urn, because that seemed like a recipe for a haunting, his ashes were buried in a small cemetery in the outskirts of town, in consecrated ground. It was probably one in the multitudes of graves with the name Dean Winchester, but this one had the distinction of it being the _truth. _

If he had retained his wings, or even his grace, Castiel would have not needed something as physical as a gravestone to remember Dean. But here he was now, mortal and barred from Heaven, so he would take what he could get.

While Enochian was the language of the angels, Latin was the language for prayer to his Father. It was why he still prayed in Latin even though Enochian and the Song were his. He touched the simple marker briefly and said, _"Requiem Aeternam dona eis, Domine."_

If anyone deserved eternal rest, surely it would be none other than Dean Winchester. _"Et lux perpetua luceat eis:_" And it was somewhat fitting that he ask perpetual light for his former charge. There was a lyrical quality to prayer in Latin, and it was personal enough that only God and he understood it right now. _"Requiescant in pace. Amen."_

Short and formulaic and rather impersonal, if truth be told, but angels always did find comfort in orders and repetitiveness. He wondered if there was anyone still listening to an angel's prayers despite them being barred from Heaven. "I'll see what I can do about this caretaker of yours, Dean," Castiel murmured as his parting, because he could not come and visit Dean without talking to him.

He walked back to the car that he had appropriated from the bunker, briefly remembering the many times he had to retake the test at the DMV to get his license. It was one of the first choices that he had made and it still brought a smile to his face when he had the time to actually drive it.

Time to pick up the prophet.

oOo

Angel garrisons were born at the beginning of time when the angels started populating their own circles of Heaven. It was natural for an angel to seek a commanding figure, because free will had never been in their distinct coding. Of course, there were always the exceptions, but mostly angels sought both enlightenment and direction from the upper echelons.

It made for a structured society with a complex hierarchy. While humans only had to contend with other humans, the entire angel hierarchy was based both on rank and species. While Castiel had been a malakh, raised as a seraph after his second death, Michael ranked as an archangel, classified as a seraph, and sometimes ruled as a principality. But Michael had always been the best of them all; he had been able to handle being in all three spheres of the Celestial Choir at the same time.

Because of that ranking, it had been difficult for Castiel, a former angel completely outside of the current hierarchy, to visit.

Kevin, dressed down in his jeans, a round neck shirt thrown on under a grey hoodie, shifted beside him as they looked at the office building that housed the angel garrison in Lebanon. "You would think that for an angel garrison, it'd look more like a military encampment," Kevin commented as they took in the glass doors and the steel frames.

Castiel's eyebrows furrowed, because other than training in the fourth circle of Heaven and the prisons in the second, there wasn't much that screamed "military barracks" in Heaven. Naomi's office certainly looked similar to this, and that was mostly in the second circle as well. "We did not undergo drills like your military; we did not need to repeat maneuvers every day to ingrain them in muscle and mind."

"Huh, so what did you _do_ in Heaven, exactly?" Kevin asked as Castiel opened the glass doors, pausing at the doorway to steel himself against entering an establishment filled with angels. Though he could not participate in the Song, he could still hear its notes, and it was overwhelming at times to human ears. It was the reason why Anna had thought herself mad. Suitably guarded, he stepped in and noted that their receptionist was Amiel, who inhabited a lanky youth who couldn't seem to contain all that was the angel.

"You mean apart from bickering and following orders? There were other types of training angels underwent." There was a memory of an empty warehouse filled with hundreds of massacred green betrayed eyes. Another of indoctrination filled with hours and hours of lashes and solitude. "Generally, we watched humans. And, of course, followed whatever mission there was on the roster."

Amiel stood up from behind the counter, nodding at Kevin, because an angel never could ignore a Prophet of the Lord. Castiel, on the other hand, was another issue altogether. He was human and, without grace, difficult to recognize to his brethren unless they had seen his vessel prior to the Fall. Humans generally were not welcome in angel garrisons unless they were to be vessels.

In all the chaos of the garrisons forming and re-forming in attempts to imitate and restructure the hierarchal choir circles, Castiel had never once attempted to visit a garrison other than Bartholomew's. He had learned enough from the one time he had been forced to visit, and that had certainly not been pretty. He was Heaven's outlaw, and he wasn't welcome in most of his brethren's earthly establishments.

"Master Tran," Amiel acknowledged, which was a little strange for Kevin because his exposure to angels had been that brief moment when he had been found out as a prophet, and then mostly Castiel, who had never given him an honorific. "Have you come to finally receive enlightenment as a prophet?"

That was equivalent to reading the Word in the middle of the desert for forty years, so the answer was a most definite shake of head. "I was here to ask about the _guf_?"

Amiel's brows furrowed. "The Chamber of Creation is not part of the Word until the final moments of the Apocalypse, Master Tran. And the Word, as you know, was never meant to be read by angels."

That just meant there was no conceivable way to find answers about the _guf _in the lower choirs. They had already gone through all the information the bunker had to offer on the _guf_ but they still needed to learn about its inner workings, so that they could ferry the souls from the repository to Earth.

"There are babies being born without souls. If there was ever a cause for alarm in the garrison, this should be it," Castiel informed him.

Amiel turned his attention to Castiel, not recognizing the almost brand new soul that had been bestowed unto him when his grace was stripped. It certainly held none of Jimmy Novak anymore. "A hunter? I'd expected you to stick with the Winchesters, Master Tran." There was a hint of disapproval in his voice. Other hunters were unknown, but the Winchesters, at least, were archangel vessels.

If there ever was a time that Castiel could agree with Dean's assessment of his brothers, this was it. Bigoted, the lot of them. "We would like to bring these concerns to the captain of this garrison. Surely the Prophet visiting your garrison warrants enough respect for the captain to see him? After all, had there been an archangel to spare, one of the generals would have been bound to him."

One thing that was good about how angels worked was that under their bravado, all angels yearned to follow orders. It was little wonder that, faced with logical facts, Castiel and Kevin were admitted to the waiting room for an audience with Nathaniel.

Amiel led them towards the waiting room, barely going through the hallways of the garrison. The Song intensified by the sheer number of angels that were present in the building. Castiel had not been immersed in the Song's orchestra for such a long time that he had to close his eyes and just _listen_. Had he made different choices, he could have been a part of this Song.

It was almost complete Song; he could hear angels other than seraphim and malakhim. The only missing tones were the warm, rich, pure tones of the archangels. A garrison that had all hierarchies meant an entire governing body and a complete family. If he had been part of this garrison, he might have been given a task as a solider; they were certainly not going to give him the work of an administrative hashmalim.

As with most offices in Heaven, Nathaniel had decked his sparsely with Heaven's propensity for blinding white light, glass doors, and barely-there furniture. Kevin was taking the waiting well, but the mention of Nathaniel's name had Castiel's jaw clenching so hard that Kevin took notice.

"Nathaniel is a seraph," Castiel said. Had Kevin been an angel, it would have been explanation enough. Seraphim were usually not mere captains. As the highest choir in the highest circle, their principal duty had been guarding the Throne. When Castiel's rank had been elevated to seraph, he had been granted a certain freedom and additional skills that he had not had before. Then again, seeing as there was a lack of thrones here on Earth, "captain" seemed like an adequate replacement. "He's going to know who I am."

"There's nothing wrong with who you are," Kevin assured Castiel. At least they had not been stonewalled at the gate, and that was reason enough to celebrate. "It's not going to be a problem."

Castiel didn't want to contradict the Prophet, but Castiel knew better. Once an outcast of Heaven, it was difficult to be redeemed. "Thank you, Kevin, but angel garrisons work differently than what you seem to believe."

Kevin frowned because they usually didn't talk much about angels. There was never really an occasion for it, but Castiel also believed that Kevin wanted to spare him the painful memories. "You know I never knew how the entire garrison worked exactly."

Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Nathaniel. He had found a tall male for a vessel, and his grace shone brightly out of his eyes, almost impossible for a human to look at. Nathaniel, it seemed, had never learned to cover the grace bleeding out of his eyes. That or he was just too proud of what he was to conceal it.

Because of Castiel's all-too-human eyes, he could not look at a seraph's grace without going blind. But looking away from a seraph was certainly something that Castiel wouldn't stand for, especially since it was most probably a power play on Nathaniel's part. And one certainly did not want to look weak in front of an angel from whom one needed information. He settled on looking at the middle of his forehead, which would have to do in terms of dominance games.

"Kevin Tran," Nathaniel acknowledged, although no hand was offered. It had been ages since a handshake was used to show proof of being weaponless, but Nathaniel would remember its archaic function rather than as a ritual to convey equality, neither of which was in an angel's makeup in the first place. They had their own version of a salute, but handshakes were virtually unheard of. "We certainly do not have libraries in this garrison that contain what you seek."

Direct to the point it was then. "But you have been in the presence of the Treasury of Souls," Castiel said. As the treasury was in Aravoth, not a lot of the angel choirs were familiar with its inner workings. An archangel or an orphanim would have been the better option. But a seraph knew enough. "You can give us an idea where to start."

Nathaniel turned to Castiel, projecting irritation and disdain. The former because someone as lowly as a human hunter would dare address him and the latter because Castiel was just that—human. "And what would you do with this information that you're trying to find?"

When their Father made man in His likeness, He bade forth four angels to look for a suitable material that could hold His breath. His breath imbued man's soul, which was now held in the treasury.

Angels, on the other hand, were not made to be corporeal because they had been created before man was made. They had been made with light and will, imbued with His voice and strengthened by grace. As such, if they came into this world of man, if they wanted to interact with it without breaking it irrevocably, they had to find vessels to hold what they were. Without humans, they would be stuck between the Veil and Heaven, unable to interact safely with humans and unable to use the full range of their abilities.

All this, Castiel knew, so he replied, "What's more important for you is, what will you do if this vessel burns out and there are no more humans to host your grace?"

Castiel hadn't known that Nathaniel could look more irritated than he was when he thought he was addressing a mere human. It blew to something close to rage when he paid closer attention to just who Castiel was. "Ahh, I should have known the Prophet would not associate with just any hunter. Castiel, I had thought by now that being cut off from the Song would have driven you insane."

The words weren't meaningful; they were just a distraction while Nathaniel measured Castiel's worth. Angels and their displays of dominance were a more roundabout than demons'. At least demons were mostly straightforward with blood, gore, and brute strength. Telling Nathaniel that he could hear the Song but not resonate with it was pointless. "I can live without Heaven constantly watching what I am doing, Nathaniel. More importantly, having the Song with you has not helped you open Heaven's Gates."

"Heaven is only Metatron now." Nathaniel's eyes darkened, turned accusatory. "From what I understand, that was somewhat of your doing as well. Your grace permeated Heaven before we were thrown out. It was lucky we survived the burn of the Fall."

Remembering the Fall was certainly not something that would give them an in in any way with regard to what they were looking for. And Castiel did not stand for being stonewalled. "Bottom-line it, Nathaniel. If you do not care that humanity is dying, you do not need to expend your time and effort beyond this one audience with us. I simply need information regarding the Treasury of Souls. How do we open a channel for humans to be born with souls again?"

There was a long beat of silence while Nathaniel considered Castiel's words before he sighed suddenly. He turned back towards the massive desk that had been the focal point of the room and leaned his hip on it, his shoulders turned inward as if the vessel felt the weight of the angel's wings, arms loose and ready as if waiting for the drop of the angel sword. It was a look that seemed oddly vulnerable in an angel, as if he was feeling all his vessel's short years on the body.

"Let there be truth between us, Castiel. The Treasury of Souls has always been the Messenger's domain. For he who has announced the birth of man's salvation has always heralded all births."

Castiel gave Nathaniel a perplexed look. "But Gabriel has been gone from Heaven for a long time. Certainly long enough before the births became a problem."

"Because Gabriel had travelled to the future and ferried enough souls before he disappeared," Nathaniel admitted. Most angels lived in a linear time line because going back in time expended a lot of grace. As a messenger, Gabriel was more familiar with the way time folded and looped, with how the universe branched out in its infinite possibilities. As an archangel, he had enough grace to make frequent trips in the past. Though he was more happy-go-lucky than the other archangels, he did take his duties seriously. "After that," Nathaniel continued, "Leilah had taken enough of the burden that if Gabriel's future ferry ran out, Leilah would be competent enough to do his work."

Now was really not a good time to find out that Gabriel was the one angel they needed for this case. "Do you know where Leilah landed? If she survived at all?"

"With this, I can actually help."

Nathaniel looked towards the door. Castiel almost heard the summons along the veins of the Song threaded in this particular garrison. They had only to wait a few moments before a tall brunette, more homely than lovely, walked through the doors, grace shining mutely through her blue eyes.

"Leilah, I do not know if you've met Castiel before?"

She gave Castiel a long, searching gaze, enough that the room's silence must have been uncomfortable for Kevin, before she responded, "No, I did not ferry this soul. I do remember Master Tran, though. Chosen."

"Then please, Castiel seeks assistance in a matter regarding the _guf_." Nathaniel nodded to Kevin before moving to leave.

"Wait," Castiel called out, before his chance to help Dean could pass. Nathaniel stopped before opening the double doors that led to the garrison's inner sanctum but did not turn around to face them again. "The Throne, its Caretaker. Would you know who it is?"

If Castiel could still see wings, then he imagined Nathaniel's would have tensed at the question. "The Caretaker is a myth. I think it was just Father's way to get us all to earn our place in His Kingdom." With that, he left without a backward glance.

That couldn't be right. Dean wouldn't have been misled by Michael. Michael was a lot of things, but he was certainly not a liar, and he would not send Dean on a wild goose chase.

Castiel turned to look back at Leilah, who smiled at him. "How can I be of assistance?"

"The Chamber of Souls? We're looking for a conduit from the treasury to the womb," Kevin supplied when it became clear that Castiel was still thinking about the Caretaker.

"As Nathaniel told you, that's mostly Gabriel's purview," Leilah answered. Castiel had forgotten that in a garrison, what one angel hears all the rest would have probably been aware of. There was not much want or need for privacy, and unless the higher choirs deemed something confidential, most knowledge was shared within a garrison's walls. "While I could have filled in for him, he still did most of the troubleshooting if something went wrong. And the closing of the Gates is definitely something that is definitely outside my experience."

That was definitely not the response he wanted to hear. "Is there nothing you can do?" Castiel asked, because he did not want to have announced his presence in the area after he spent years and years of hiding just to learn _nothing_ on this trip.

"There is one thing," Leilah conceded. "I would need a television."

oOo

Castiel would have preferred to go to a mall and check out television displays there instead of spending money in a motel just so they could watch TV, but Kevin had informed him that those retail stores didn't always have cable, and apparently some type of connection was needed for Leilah's purposes. Neither he nor Kevin was comfortable with any other angel knowing about the bunker, so the motel had won out.

They all sat down in front of the motel's well-used television set. Leilah had switched a couple of channels, looking for one that would appeal to their tastes and they settled on _Elementary_, because Kevin was a Lucy Liu fan and Castiel could sort of relate to watching a recovering addict even if he had never actually picked up an abused substance in this life.

Castiel kept giving Leilah sidelong glances. As a human, he'd learned to doubt, and he was dubious about wasting an entire day. Leilah just watched television, unblinking, because she was still graced up enough not to need things as human as blinking. It made her look this side of heavily botoxed, though.

Leilah, sensing Castiel's gaze, reached for him and squeezed his hand in small comfort. She had been a rather motherly angel even before the Fall, and she had been tasked with watching the babies while they were still in the womb. Gabriel's duty had involved bestowing each soul to its respective child, while Leilah's work had involved guarding the soul while it germinated in the womb. Leilah was the storyteller who first told the child about their Father.

"Castiel," Leilah said softly as she inclined her head towards the television. It had taken almost an entire re-run of the series before what she wanted came up.

It was an advertisement, which was why he had not been paying attention in the first place. There, in the middle of isles and isles of grocery products were two men pushing carts of carbonated drinks. One of which was a short man in blue coveralls of Pepsi. Castiel frowned, "So Gabriel's vessel is an extra in a Pepsi commercial?"

Leilah smiled and shook her head. "Wait for it, brother." So Castiel watched them build progressively larger and catchier boxes to show case their drink until finally in the end, Gabriel's character had built a stage and—

"Did he just snap to access grace?" Castiel asked incredulously as he stared at the screen. It was a rather unique knack that Gabriel had for grace and creation. Although other archangels probably could do it the way Gabriel did, archangels were creatures of habit. Michael managed it with less pomp and Raphael accomplished it with fire; Castiel had little knowledge of how Lucifer curbed creation. "How did he ever survive in something as pervasive as television?"

"You forget, mostly everyone knew him as the Trickster. No one was going to associate Loki with a vessel," Leilah said warmly. She and Gabriel had worked eons together and they certainly knew each other well enough. "Only a handful of angels were privy to the fact that the Trumpeter fled Heaven to hide as a pagan god."

"How am I going to contact Gabriel?" Castiel wondered out loud, just as _Elementary_ went back on, but Castiel's mind was distracted enough not to pay attention to this particular murder. Unfortunately for them, though Leilah showed them Gabriel, talking to him was another matter entirely.

"Well, he is an angel," Kevin said, eyes still on the screen, back braced against the couch and the armrest. "We could always just pray."

Maybe for another angel, but Gabriel, being an archangel, received a lot of prayers. And he was probably adept at ignoring them, since he decided that he wanted a complete change in religion.

Leilah shook her head. "I may know Gabriel well enough to know where he would hide for recuperation after the Morning Star terminated the Trickster's existence, but because of that, he will not answer any summons coming from me."

And there were just a lot of things in that sentence that Castiel couldn't parse. Because "terminated" and "recuperation" just did not go hand in hand. He let that thought go before looking towards Kevin. "But Gabriel might listen to a prophet's prayer."

Kevin looked at the screen intently before sighing. "We'll do it when the next ad comes up."

The next Gabriel-fueled ad turned out to be Gabriel proposing to a girl with a shoe. Castiel certainly did not understand how magic was exactly there, but the moment that Gabriel stopped putting the shoe on for the girl had him breaking the fourth wall and staring intently back out at them. "Goddamn it Leilah, I thought we agreed that I was better off lost. Are you out of your freaking crazy noggin? Why do you have to ruin my sweet deal of witness protection, huh?" Gabriel's TV date looked appalled at his words and more appalled at the shoebox.

At least it had worked. Gabriel could have ignored them, and then where would they be? Leilah shrugged, a serene smile gracing her face, and Castiel could imagine the dynamic of them working together for centuries. Leilah was grounding and infinitely patient, enough to balance Gabriel, who was flighty and willfully _spontaneous. _"That was before questions of the Caretaker were brought to my attention, Gabriel, and only an archangel can answer these questions."

Castiel was certainly a little bit confused with where the conversation was going. While the Caretaker was something that he had asked about and was certainly something he wanted to know to better help Dean, Castiel had thought that Leilah talking to Gabriel was mostly because of the Treasury of Souls.

"The Caretaker?" Gabriel repeated. He frowned, eyes flitting briefly between Kevin and Castiel before settling on Leilah uncertainly, confirming for Castiel that the archangel physically _in_ the show instead of some studio filming. "You _know_ where two other archangels are, Leilah."

"Michael and Lucifer can only be reached through the ninth circle of Hell. Without wings and a proper seven, we are not breaking through the walls of Hell for that conversation," Castiel answered for her, because he was not going to be forgotten in the middle of this conversation.

Gabriel frowned and snapped, and he appeared in the middle of a car, toying with a greeting card, still intently staring at them. He had apparently jumpstarted to another commercial with him in it about hallmark moments and cards. "No wings and no proper seven?" Gabriel closed his eyes, and from the way his brow furrowed, and a pained look crossing his face, Castiel guessed there was a story there, one that Gabriel probably wouldn't be sharing anytime soon. "Shehaqim getting too painful to visit?"

"Shehaqim closing up after the Fall, more like," Castiel corrected. And this was sounding bad, that an archangel did not know about the state of Heaven. "You really don't know anything, Gabriel?"

"Well, _bro_, when I went into hiding from the crazy older brother who _torched my wings, _I had to cut myself off from more than the Song and Revelation," Gabriel explained, tapping his Hallmark card against his knee and frowning.

"The Evening Star has been locked in his Cage with Michael for a while now; there is no need to hide," Castiel reminded Gabriel. What would an archangel have to fear when all the other archangels were gone?

"Cassie, what do you want from me?" Gabriel asked.

Castiel's heart sank. This was what he'd come to, asking help from the one archangel who had preferred the humans over Heaven. Opening the Gates would not be proper incentive, but ferrying the souls might just be the key. "Guidance and, barring that, information."

"What guidance could I give you? I'm a _fugitive_ and I've been hiding so long from the God-crew, you know more about things in Heaven than I do." Gabriel threw open his arms wide.

"Not about the _guf,_ Gabriel, and certainly not about the Caretaker of the Throne," Leilah chimed in. Castiel hoped that if there was someone who could convince Gabriel about the endeavor, it would be Leilah, whom he'd worked with for a while. "We are broken in our ranks without an archangel, Gabriel. It has been so long that we've had infighting and bickering and _factions._ The last time Heaven was at a divide, Lucifer's light dimmed, taking almost half of our brothers with him."

Gabriel still looked unconvinced. They were losing him.

"Look, it seems to me that you left Heaven because you hated the infighting. Unless that's changed, then this seems the right moment to come back," Kevin said, finally putting in his two cents. He looked at Gabriel meaningfully before nodding towards Castiel and Leilah. "The angels can barely function here on Earth without leadership. There would be less infighting if someone would take a leadership role, and who better than the last archangel walking free?"

Gabriel looked doubtful. But the prophet's words seemed to have affected him. "Leading has always been Michael's domain." It was said in the tones of a last-ditch attempt to convince himself against a bad idea.

"Yes, but it was always an archangel's responsibility, Gabriel. The ranks have fallen. The Gates have closed. Metatron has cast out all angels from Heaven." Leilah leaned forward as she stated the facts. "There is no _reason_ to hide anymore and stronger reasons to stay. You told me when you left that you loved your brothers; this is the time to show Heaven that you are more than just your word."

"Yeah, and seriously, are you going to get a pencil pusher like Metatron to take an archangel's place?" Kevin chimed in.

Gabriel snapped again and was finally in front of Castiel. That shocked Castiel so much because the only thing consistent among the earthbound angels was the lack of functioning wings.

Being forced to fall out of Heaven had forced angels to use their wings as a buffer in the rip between worlds. Not all angels had enough grace within themselves to travel between this reality and Heaven's. In effect, it burned some of them out. But all of the survivors had charred remains of wings and all of them had exhausted the ability of grace to make pure creation, because the cut off from the airways of Heaven had depleted them. No wonder humans thought they had looked like meteor showers. The truth was, they had just been trying to survive.

"Why do I have a feeling I'm going to regret coming out of witness protection for you, little bro?"


	8. Agony in the Garden

**Chapter 8: Agony in the Garden**

Because the third and fourth heaven had opened to the open-air, Dean had expected the seventh heaven to have the same nature theme. However, the Tree in Aravoth was planted in front of a hallway, blocked by a locked door. It had the same hallways in the sterile neutral white that Dean had seen in Castiel's dream; that is, until Dean held Michael's key in his hand.

The halls were still mostly white, but they had changed to something that held an ethereal quality in it. The walls were lined in intricate filigree and built-in marble with veins of gold. It shone and was bright with something that Dean associated with an angel's grace. It almost felt like that one time he had been abducted and sent to a fairy mound. Before the door was an area carved out from natural stones, polished to smoothness from the wall. It was an area that could have housed the guardians of this gate before the Fall.

Untying the key from his neck, Dean brought it forward to the double doors. The doors were made of solid brass inlaid with beaten bronze stars framed by geometric patterns set in a massive white marble frame. At the center, two keyholes for the double-shafted key easily drew the eye with their complex carvings.

Dean unlocked the door and slowly pushed it open, hiding the key beneath his shirt as he stepped through and got his first look at the seventh heaven.

The rainbow bridge quip to Cas hadn't been off the mark, at least. The entrance of seventh heaven had arches of rainbows for its welcome mat, and Aravoth itself was a realm of fire and water. Its entrance landed him on top of a cliff that overlooked the thousands of bridges that crossed over myriads of rivers of fire that flowed to surround glowing domes that showed falling snow, thunderclouds and other displays of nature until they finally converged underneath the Throne.

The Throne itself was the centerpiece of Aravoth. It rested on what Dean assumed to be the crown of the Tree of Life. The Tree's branches supported the Throne, the base of which was a wooden chest. Said chest was larger than life, carved with close attention to detail: its swirls twisting and turning when seen through the corner of Dean's eye, but stationary when looked at directly. It was finished finely with a nice sheen that screamed otherworldly. It was heavy with treasure, which glowed at its seams, bursting with light that Dean had come to recognize as souls.

"So _that's _the Throne everyone's been talking about," Dean muttered before he _really _looked at his predicament. The view of the seventh heaven was great, but getting places was not really possible for someone who had no wings. "How the hell am I supposed to get down there?"

"It's been a long time since a Righteous Man set foot in Aravoth."

Dean almost jumped out of his skin when he heard that because he wasn't expecting anyone by the door at all. He whirled around to find a girl, no younger than six but no older than nine, all dressed in white, sitting cross-legged on the rainbow walkway. She was looking up at him, head tilted to the side with impossibly wide blue eyes.

"Jes—" Dean cut himself off before crouching down to get to her eye level. "Hey, sweetheart."

She scrunched her eyebrows as if she couldn't understand what he was saying and then pressed her small fingers _through_ her chest, bright light shining where her hand passed. When she extracted her hand, a single drop of red glowed on her fingertip, which she then proceeded to lick off. "No, my heart is not _sweet._"

Dean froze, stifling the strong urge to curse, because _kid_. Apparently residents of Heaven still ranked pretty damn high in the disturbing meter, right up there with citizens of Hell. Good to know. "Okay, not sweetheart, then. You got a name?"

She narrowed her eyes in thought, making it seem like the concept of having her own name was foreign to her. Like it was the first time someone had asked it of her. "The Scribe calls me Charis."

Castiel had warned him that there was a good chance he'd run into Metatron here, but not until he got a long way in at least. "I didn't think _anybody_ was in seventh heaven," Dean said.

She bit her lip in worry and then whistled a small pure note, resounding throughout the entire seventh sphere. After a while a loud resonance rumbled back, lower and more solid. "At least one angel in Aravoth," she answered, "the _only_ angel I've known in Aravoth."

Dean stood up abruptly, eyes going towards the location where the answering tone had echoed from. "Was that Metatron?"

"Yes. I asked him where he was, and he reassured me he was here," Charis said, standing up along with Dean and looking in the same direction he was.

It was a worse answer than what Dean had been hoping for. If Dean could have strangled her, he would have. This was what he got for trusting wide-blue-eyed _children. _"Give me a—"

"I see you met my pet." Metatron's arrival did not come with the sound of birds in flight but with a heavy whoosh of air. Charis, in contrast, had been noiseless. "Not content with Shehaqim, that you've come to pester me here?"

Metatron was just annoying enough for Dean to answer cheekily, "Just exploring all of my God-given angel vessel talents."

In the next blink of the eye, gone were the rivers and domes surrounding them, replaced by a barred room of stone looking more like a dungeon than a prison. Metatron had effectively locked him behind iron bars. Dean kicked the bars in frustration, which didn't even earn a flinch from Metatron on the other side. "Just fucking great."

"Shame on you; you're in the company of a lady," Metatron admonished, a smile plastered on his face, his hand holding Charis's. "Charis has been wonderful company. Heaven without angels is—rather empty."

"And whose fault is that exactly, dick?" Dean spat out, gripping the bars in anger. "Those angels are going to die. _Humanity_ is going to die. You didn't think this through!"

"Those angels have been given Heaven for more than a millennium. They were created to facilitate this realm in the time that you pesky ants would rest here. Like little ant farms in a big ant hill." Metatron shrugged gesturing around. "And look at what they have accomplished: a whole lot of nothing. At least you humans _create_ stories, _beautiful_ stories!"

"Well sooner or later, no one is fucking going to _create_ anything. No one is getting born," Dean pointed out, hitting the bars with the heel of his hands. It was just noise, not useful, but at least it gave Dean the satisfaction of hitting something. "Your treasure chest of souls is filling to the brim, and no one is emptying the coffers. Resurrection worked for a while because I was there, but you need angels. Open the damned Gates."

Metatron's eyes steeled. "You are in no position to judge me, Dean Winchester. I sat on the Throne of Judgment before God left this realm to write the Winchester Gospels. Today I have judged you, and regrettably, I must inform you that you have been found wanting." With that, Metatron put his hands on Charis's shoulders and left Dean alone in his cell.

Dean slammed his fist against the rail one last time before slotting his arms out of the bars and resting his head against them. "Fuck."

oOo

Being held captive in Heaven was different from being held captive in Hell. Hell at least, had been consistent in its torture. When Dean had nightmares about Hell, they contained the torture chambers and not much else. His last ten years had deemed him worthy to be left alone in the ninth circle, but he had never ventured out of the first ring of the ninth circle (it probably should have been called Alastair's personal encampment, but no one dared nicknames in Hell).

Sam, when he told his stories about the way he rescued Bobby, seemed to have stayed much in the first circle, filled with corridors and prisons. A place of sorrow with nearly no torment.

In Heaven's prison, Dean spent an inordinate amount of time slamming against the bars, more for anger management than anything else. After that, he had catalogued what was in the cell with him: one stone bench that doubled as a bed, one very high window that filtered in what passed for sunlight in this place, two sets of clothes that miraculously fit, and a some books, because god forbid Dean get _bored_ in prison. There was nothing to wash or clean with, presumably because it was Heaven's prison and did not attend to those kinds of needs. It was a standard prison block, worse than Earth's own in some ways but more accommodating than Hell's version.

His time had rapidly devolved into trying to fashion a makeshift shovel, cursing Metatron out loud, and then _sulking_. Getting forgotten in an empty prison for all eternity was not the way Dean had expected to spend his afterlife.

Metatron had thrown him in a cage and had promptly _forgotten_ him. Of course, that might have been the _no angels in Heaven_ thing, but there were no visits, no food, and no torturers. Dean leaned back against the wall, his head banging at certain intervals in frustration.

In Hell, he had known time passed because of the tortures. Alastair had come in for sessions once a day and had been a stickler for keeping to his schedule.

Here, Dean didn't even know if it had been hours, days or years. There were no markers that he could rely on at all, not even mealtimes, because he didn't need to eat. Not to mention the time velocity conundrum.

"Dean, I'm sorry." Dean scrambled up to a standing position, tensing when he saw Charis in the cell with him. She leaned forward slowly, then suddenly latched on to his legs giving him a tight hug. "I didn't think he'd bring you to Raki'a. "

Dean stood awkwardly in the middle of the cell with the girl latched on to his legs. She pulled out of the embrace and looked up at him. Those eyes looked ancient. She didn't sound like an angel, but she didn't feel like a soul either, and there were a limited number of other beings that were actually allowed in Heaven.

"I have to get you back to Shehaqim," Charis said.

Dean laughed dubiously, because he was behind bars, in the part of Heaven allocated for prisoners. It did not make for an easy way out. But Charis walked towards the bars, flicking her fingers against them individually, listening and feeling the vibrations.

The bars emitted a low metallic note that was short and low-pitched because the bars were made of solid iron and bolted to cement walls to prevent long vibrations. She repeated it several times before she sang a single note eerily similar to the bars' pitch.

"Sorry, I cannot get the overtones correctly; wait." She struck the bars again, then sang before the tones died out. This time, she clearly resonated with the bars' pitch to the point that all bars were vibrating at her frequency.

He stared at the bars, dumbstruck. They had vibrated and then simply broken at her voice. He was grateful as fuck for it, but there were other issues on hand. "Michael and Lucifer ain't getting out of their Cage that way, right?"

She gave him a look, which on other people he might have interpreted as: how-are-you-this-dumb? but on her simply seemed puzzled. "Michael and Lucifer's Cage is not made out of material as mundane as iron."

Dean looked at the doorway suspiciously, then back at Charis. He knew he didn't want to stay inside the prison, but he wasn't sure if he could actually trust her. She waited patiently until he made the decision to follow her out of the cell. It didn't stop him from asking his other questions, though. "What are you doing with Metaturd, anyway?"

She turned assuredly through the white-washed corridors before answering him, "If you mean the Scribe, then I am keeping him company. A duet is more of a harmony than a single note." Charis most _definitely_ did not talk like a regular child. She giggled though, when she noticed where his thoughts were taking him. "My memories are young. I only recall the last decade or so, but I am sure I have existed far longer than your own lifespan."

It naturally begged the next line of questioning from Dean, "What the hell are you?" he asked apprehensively, because being forced to work with something that was unknown and untrusted was familiar, but if he could find out what she was, he could prepare for how she could turn against him.

Charis stopped in the middle of the hall. "I do not know either. I am not a denizen of Hell, Dean Winchester. Could I not be _human?"_

Not with the singing and the appearing out of nowhere but hey, there could always be exceptions. "Where exactly is Raki'a?" Dean asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. Here was a being that seemed to know a bit about Heaven, trusted or not, the hunter was going to milk the situation for all it was worth.

"Raki'a is the formal name for the second circle of Heaven." Charis looked comfortable navigating, which was a little difficult for Dean to swallow because he was expecting double-cross at each moment, but he let her lead the way. Raki'a felt like an old human dungeon with its grey stones, there was also an underlying thrum of power that Dean could feel through his core. All the cells they passed were empty and open, except for his.

So they were in the second heaven, it meant that if Charis was taking Dean back to his own heaven in the third circle, then they would have to pass by the Tree of Life, which by now he'd come to think of as a mini-portal (beat that, Star Trek). He wasn't going to allow her to mojo them anywhere, and he wasn't staying here, so walking back to wherever the Tree was, seemed to be his only option.

He didn't want to get lost in Heaven's prisons, and he didn't know how to navigate in this lower level, so Dean reluctantly gave Charis his trust. He just decided to keep a close eye on her. If he could work with Meg for extended periods of time without killing her, then he could do it with Charis.

Something was nagging at the back of his mind, tugging at him in remembrance during their walk through the corridors, until their conversation was interrupted by a soft, "Well, hello. I didn't expect you to be back so soon." Coming out of the relative brightness of the second heaven, Nick's soft-spoken voice had lost a dimension of intimidation that the dark gave him.

Lucifer still appeared behind bars, and again the eerie blue light that had been in the third heaven was present, but there was no gaping hole underneath his feet, and the cell looked more like a prison wrought from a sci-fi movie than anything else.

Charis stepped behind Dean, peeking out from behind his back and watching Lucifer intently. There was a soft tremble in the hand that gripped Dean's shirt, followed by an insistent tug for Dean to move away from the lights that were the Cage. Dean wasn't sure if he was all right with being a shield to a largely unknown entity moving freely in Heaven.

"I didn't mean to pass by here, Son of the Morning. I didn't mean to disturb," Charis apologized.

"Disturb all you want, graceling." Lucifer gave a soft chuckle, seemingly _amused_ that they had dared walk the halls that held him. "Big brother is occupied elsewhere, if you were wondering. A wrinkle in your plan, then?"

That was clearly addressed to Dean, but the last time he'd come visiting, he'd started a fight about Aravoth. He wasn't look forward to another. "It's moving along."

"Sufficiently vague while telling me to mind my own business. I like it." Lucifer waved a hand, and the key to Aravoth glowed under Dean's shirt. It looked like enough of Lucifer's power could leak out of the Cage in the second heaven to influence objects, at least. Dean could feel more of Lucifer's power here than when they had last talked. "Ahh, isn't it funny that I have 666 seals and Aravoth has just one?"

"Yeah, ha, ha." Dean really shouldn't have done it, but again, the lack of self-perseverance and the smug knowledge that Lucifer wasn't getting out of the Cage any time soon had prompted sarcasm. "Well, we're going now, portal is closing and all that."

"I didn't think you'd let this opportunity pass," Lucifer said, licking his lips in anticipation. There was a reason why he was called The Great Tempter. "You need information, and I want out."

"Unlike what some people believe, I'm really not that much of an idiot."

Lucifer shook his head slowly. "You Righteous Men. All the same in your song. So predictable in your _righteousness._" He turned towards Charis, lifting a small eyebrow and beckoning her closer. "And you, graceling? Will you deny me the look of you?"

Dean drew short. On one hand he didn't know if he trusted this unknown entity in the form of Charis; on the other, he could never wish for anyone to be left alone and subjected to Lucifer. Mind made up, Dean widened his stance and started tugging Charis away. Lucifer interested in a child was creepy enough. The last time that happened, Azazel had been force-feeding demon blood to an entire generation of children. Who knew what he could do to something that looked like a child-angel hybrid? It was more self-preservation than wanting to protect the Charis.

Lucifer gave Dean a knowing look. "You don't even know what she is, human. She could be something that you hunt."

"Yeah, okay. Message heard and understood. But also, I'm taking my chances with her over _you_. We're in Heaven, I'm trusting the Pearly Gates to block anyone that's gonna kill me." The words came unbidden just to be contrary to Lucifer. Dean couldn't come up with any sass when he actually agreed with the fallen angel in the first place.

"You're in Heaven's prison cells," Lucifer corrected him, that slight smile of condescension lingering on his lips. "Raki'a has been known for housing monsters."

Thank you, Lucifer, for bringing in more reason to be distrustful in Heaven. There was nothing in Charis that screamed death and destruction, but Dean's human senses had been wrong before. Lilith had occupied a child when Dean first saw her.

"I will grant the Morning Star audience," Charis allowed. Dean didn't think it was a good idea, regardless of what he thought of Charis. Lucifer's lips twitched, seemingly amused at the thought of being _granted_ audience by a child.

She stepped out from behind Dean, while Dean eyed Lucifer uncertainly. Lucifer didn't kneel, so Charis was forced to crane her neck to look up at him, blue eyes meeting blue. "We meet again. You were gifted memory, child."

"Not the memory of you," Charis admitted.

She had knowledge of what he was but not memories of who he was to her. Good to know there was always a distinction somewhere. They stood for a long while staring at each other, long enough that Dean started tapping his fingers against his arm in impatience.

"He'll come for me," Charis said.

Dean suddenly realized he missed half of the conversation and the stretch of silence was not a staring match but the two beings in front of him already talking.

Lucifer focused his attention on Dean but pursed his lips and purposefully inhaled through his mouth. It turned parts of Charis into a ghostly fog that was slowly drawn towards Lucifer. Charis stepped back partly in fear, partly in confusion, but all that bluish-white mist was already in the air, going up towards the Cage. For a moment, Dean thought that Lucifer would absorb what he'd stolen, but the stream of light's progress was halted by the Cage's bars and then dispersed.

Lucifer licked his lips again. "Interesting."

"Interesting would be me running you through with a sword," Dean threatened. Dean may not have trusted Charis, but he sure as hell did not trust Lucifer either. Charis absent-mindedly patted herself down, seemingly trying to reassure herself that she was whole without taking her attention off Lucifer. She was breathing big gulps of air, which Dean was sure she didn't need, her face pale, frightened and oddly vulnerable. Dean took pity on her and helped her along. "Show's over. We're leaving."

"Be my guest, Dean." He paused, but Dean could still feel his attention on them as they walked away from the Cage. "Just remember, you know where to find me."

oOo

Charis walked the remaining path in Raki'a more cautiously than she had before. She didn't volunteer information about her short chat with Lucifer, and Dean didn't ask.

The bars had kept her unharmed, but she still seemed a bit spooked from the experience. She didn't talk again until they had broken out of the long series of cells that was the second heaven and walked out into the Garden of Eden via the Tree of Life. Dean still couldn't get over the fact that they were using the Tree as a glorified portal.

Charis stepped out of the small circle after him, took a lungful of air in the third heaven, and smiled. She looked around in fascination at her surroundings, giving Dean the idea that she'd never been dropped in the mortal's afterlife before. That was kind of sad, because though the angels certainly had a lot of wonders in their respective heavens, there was certainly something different about mortals' memories.

"Metatron doesn't bring me to the lower circles," Charis said, looking around, touching the plants and listening to the fauna that occasionally broke through the shrubbery.

Metatron had called her his little pet, and thus, Charis was given reign over Heaven but still locked in a gilded cage. She was kept as his companion, and because of it, she was terribly alone. She sat in front of one of the flowers and watched a bee walk around on its petals.

She smiled up at him. "You think so loud," she whispered, standing up. "Metatron is not going to look for me. He is reading." That was going to take a while, from what she was implying. "Come on, Dean Winchester, let's look at your heaven."

The ability to read his mind easily made him distrust her more. They were already in the third heaven, and Dean suspected that even though he could try to run from her, as he and Sam had once done when Zachariah was after them, she would still be able to find him.

Her smile faltered. "I see," she whispered her hand stopping mid-way from reaching out to his. "I have been alone in Heaven, forbidden from the lower circles. My only companion has been the Scribe. Before you came, my sole duty was to guard the rivers of fire and to attend to the Throne. I have apologized that my master threw you into a prison. I have rebelled from the only master I have known so that you may walk free."

She took a step back from him, and there was a flash of anger in her eyes. "You are in a Heaven devoid of stars. You would think that the only beings here that would mean you harm are locked away and kept from you. What more do you need of me, Dean Winchester? Heaven was made for souls; Aravoth especially was made for the righteous."

"Well fat lot of good that did me," Dean muttered, eyeing her warily. "I'm in the third heaven, four circles away from Aravoth."

She paused, head bowed in remorse. There was a distinct flutter of wings, the first time he'd heard it with her, and she vanished for a few seconds before reappearing with an envelope. She held it out towards him. "If there is one thing I could gift you, then it's this."

Dean took the proffered letter slowly, carefully, as if it could hurt him by touch. He tapped it against the back of his hand twice before looking at her. "What, is this letter special?" She nodded in affirmation.

Dean opened the envelope, knowing instinctively that it was one of the many prayers that he had stocked and not touched since he'd arrived in the third circle. He felt a small amount of anger that she had dared touch his things, that she had dared breach his sanctuary.

"If you would read this one prayer for me, then I would leave you alone. Is that not what you want? To be left alone?" she asked slowly. "It will not hurt you, in this the holiest place in Shehaqim: where all souls are protected under the Garden; where all pacts are heard under the Tree of Life."

Dean leaned against one of the many trees that lined the garden's path as he removed the letter from its envelope. He sighed as he started reading to himself, _Dean_— he looked up, and Charis was watching him with steady eyes waiting for him to finish.

He shook his head and then turned his attention back to the two pages in front of him. _—I know that you're going to worry. You never could relegate both taking care of Sam and the family business to other people, and you will have to, now—_

Dean took a deep breath. "Really? Out of all things you could've asked me to read? Special or not…"

Charis looked at him wearily before answering, "It sings to me."

"It sings—yeah, ok." Dean closed his eyes and gave another sigh. He wiped his palm over his face. He strongly needed to curse, or maybe to drink, both of which he was uncomfortable doing with an unknown being of unknown power looking like a small human girl staring at him. _You are more than who you believe yourself to be, and I have always known that if there has been a failing in you, it is that you fail to have faith in yourself—_

Dean cut himself off, because if the rest of the letter was going to be filled with that, he was going to end up embarrassing himself. In front of a child-enemy-angel-being. So they were definitely not continuing.

Dean flipped the page over to check who wrote—prayed, whatever—the words. At the bottom, signed in symbols that Dean recognized as Enochian, was an angel name.

"_You're teaching _me_ Enochian? You must be looking for Sam; I've never been the nerdy brother. I can't understand that," Dean muttered, pushing the papers away because there were better things to do than be buried in books. Porn was one thing, Doctor Sexy another. And that was just off the top of his head._

_Castiel gave Dean an exasperated look as he pushed the paper back. "I understand that you're not interested in languages and being bookish. But there's no reason for you _not_ to learn it. I'm not always going to be around to translate for you, Dean."_

_Dean felt a small amount of horror at the reminder that Cas was mortal now. But if Cas thought that Dean would let him die before him, he had another thing coming._

_Realizing that Cas was still waiting for a response, Dean said,_ _"Cas, these things look like _hieroglyphs_, and they're all practically consonants when Romanized."_

_Cas raised an eyebrow, and Dean knew that Cas had caught him out; those words meant that Dean had at least looked at Enochian in passing. Having angels on your back meant that you needed some working understanding of these things, but there had always been Kevin and Cas and Sam, so Dean had never needed to fully learn it._

"_All right, never mind then, Dean."_

_Cas looked so dejected that Dean ended up pulling an empty sheet of paper and prodding Cas with a pencil. "You could show me your name in Enochian, though."_

"_But my name is practically useless," Castiel protested. "I'm hardly angelic anymore, so you can't use it in spells, and I don't even know if you could summon me without my wings."_

"_Well maybe I just want to know." Dean shrugged nonchalantly._

_Castiel eyed him suspiciously before accepting the pencil and writing out his name in longhand. It was filled with scrawls that looked like a cross and a five married together._

"_Okay, so this, I'm not forgetting," Dean said as he traced the symbols and then pocketed the sheet of paper. It garnered a smile from Cas, so Dean counted it as a win._

Dean looked up from the letter to find Charis watching him closely. "Ah," she said in understanding.

"What?"

"It's just that…" she trailed off. "You hold on to people you care about very tightly, Dean Winchester. I didn't realize it extended to beings that were _other._"

"Getting ready to ambush Aravoth?" said Metatron in his patented snide tones, interrupting whatever Charis had been about to say.

They were in third heaven, where souls could make dreams solid and thoughts actions; Dean could actually create _guns_, something that he was thankful for as he pulled one from memory. His letter momentarily forgotten, Dean set his sights on Metatron, who had an annoying little smile playing on his annoying little face. Dean was tempted to smash his fist against the angel's nose if he knew it would actually wipe that knowing smile out of existence. Metatron didn't even look bothered that Dean had escaped the second heaven.

"Going home," Dean said nonchalantly, because why the hell not? Metatron was bound to know he was heading back to his heaven one way or the other. As long as Metatron was allowing Dean his freedom and Dean had nothing concrete beyond getting back home, Metatron could know all of Dean's fucking plans.

Charis had curled up into one of the lower branches of the Tree of Life, terrified, bright blue eyes locked onto Metatron, all the while making herself as small as possible. Whatever Dean thought of Charis, her terror in response to Metatron's appearance was more palpable than her reaction to Lucifer's presence.

"Ahh, playing in the mud," Metatron said, distaste rolling off him in waves. "Which reminds me, the little blue-bird needs her ritual cleansing. She's been in the mud pits for so long_._"

Dean was contemplating his gun because the one thing a soul couldn't suddenly create in Heaven was an angel's blade, and he didn't have those made into bullets to even remotely scratch Metatron. Dean's eyes didn't leave Metatron as he asked, "Charis? You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"'_For those angels who serve Him today, do not serve Him tomorrow_'—" Charis raised her voice, and it sounded vaguely like scripture.

"The Throne is glistening," Metatron said.

With those words, Charis hung her head. She unfurled wings, the first time Dean had seen them, before addressing Dean, "Goodbye, Dean. I won't remember you next time." Between one moment and the next she was gone.

Dean shot Metatron in the head out of spite. Metatron just gave him an incredulous look as he fished out the bullet from his skull. It was grotesque and disturbing and got on Dean's last nerve. He shot Metatron a couple more times just because he could.

"That wasn't very nice," Metatron admonished.

"Your fucking face isn't very nice, but I don't call you out on it," Dean said, gun still trained on the angel even though he knew it was useless. "Wanna tell me what the fuck Charis was?"

"Not an angel," Metatron answered. So the thousand-dollar question remained unanswered.

"Get the fuck out of the third heaven, dickbag."

Metatron sniffed. "Gladly." Then he was gone with a rush of wind.


	9. The Assumption

**Chapter 9: The Assumption**

Castiel was reminded how frustrating it was to work with the Trickster. Gabriel was an archangel and therefore was used to having his own way. He still had the majority of his grace and intact _wings_ because he hadn't been caught in the Fall like the rest of the angels, but because he was cut off from Heaven, his powers were diminished.

Gabriel had snapped them into existence in the bunker, because apparently infiltrating secret societies was not just Abaddon's thing; it had been a passing interest of Gabriel's as well.

Gabriel gave a bellow of outrage when he found out that even though he could use his wings he could not fly into Heaven and was now more or less moored to Earth. His head was lolling about on the bunker's sofa, arms covering his eyes and he was moaning due to what Castiel assumed was either the pain of slamming into Heaven's locked gates, or abject misery because he had failed.

They watched him wallow in his suffering until they noticed Leilah's barely contained laughter. Leilah's lip gave a little twitch as she dumped an entire armload of candy onto his head. Gabriel sent her a glare that would have sent lesser angels looking for space away from the archangel's fury.

Leilah ignored it as she sat down beside him. "Are you over your tantrum?"

"God damn it, Leilah, but you could give even an arch issues," Gabriel complained as he unwrapped one of the cherry lollipops and popped it into his mouth. He shook the other candy out of his hair and let it fall unceremoniously around him before picking them up and storing them in his pockets.

"Well, can't you just go into the Dark Ages and tell past-Gabriel to get more souls from the _guf _to the present to buy us some time?" Kevin asked while standing in front of Gabriel and Leilah, arms also crossed. Castiel sensed that Kevin's patience with the archangel was wearing thin.

"More time for _what,_ exactly? And why do I need to get more souls? Other than the fact that going to the past requires significant mojo, added on to the fact that I can't properly recharge my batteries in Heaven…" Gabriel lifted a questioning eyebrow, straightening from his slumped position then looked at Leilah. "What _lies_ have you been telling the prophet?"

Leilah blushed, and that was the first time that Castiel had actually ever seen the angel looked ashamed. "What would you have me do? You wanted to tour the world. Escape the family. If I told the truth, they'd have been able to find you."

"Wait, so all that folding time that Nathaniel told us, it was a lie?" Castiel asked in mild disbelief, mainly because it had been a plausible story, and because Leilah had been the one to tell it.

"Well, Nathaniel certainly takes it as the truth. No one actually knows how the _guf _works, except for Father and the archangels. The seraphim wanted to know if I could still deliver the souls and how I was doing it, so I lied." Her voice had progressively turned softer and smaller as the confession continued. "Michael and Raphael certainly weren't going to notice. It wasn't their dominion, and no one was going to _ask_ them while I was there."

Gabriel's smile widened until he couldn't hold in his laughter as the prophet and the two angels related just what Nathaniel had believed about the treasuries. Castiel suspected that, given more time to laugh about the situation, Gabriel would have just doubled over and continued, because it was in his nature as a trickster. Gabriel wiped his eyes in mirth and shook his head. "You guys just slayed me, man. I didn't know you had that in you, Lei."

"Not helpful, Gabriel," Castiel said in exasperation. "I really need to understand how the _guf_ and the souls work."

"Just to simplify things so all non-angels present can understand," Gabriel paused looking meaningfully at Kevin, "my grace fuels the flow between the treasury and the babies. It does all that work for me _as long as_ it's anchored to the Tree of Life. It doesn't matter whether I can access Heaven or not. As long as I have my grace and hold the title of Messenger, then the souls should still continue to be delivered."

It was more understandable than having one angel deliver the entire population of the world's souls. It would have occupied all of Gabriel's attention, time navigation or not, especially taking into account how the population of the world was expanding.

Angels had their duties on top of their hierarchies, and it made sense that the stronger the grace, like for archangels, the more tasks they could complete without their full attention. For Castiel, guardianship over both Winchesters had taken up most of his time. Because of that, the angel of Thursday had mostly allocated Thursdays' duties to grace that he wasn't actively using—as a background process or what most of them called a "bleed off grace." If the same task had been given to Gabriel, the guardianship would have been relegated to his subconscious because governing the higher realms and being a messenger required more of his conscious effort.

"Then why are we having births without souls _now_, rather than when the angels fell?" Kevin asked in frustration, dropping down into one of the smaller chairs in the living room.

Gabriel's gaze sharpened at those words. He turned to Leilah, who shrugged at him, and then Castiel, who nodded. "Are you telling me that someone is messing around with _my_ treasury?" In all of the confusion, Castiel realized that they had just been asking Gabriel about how the _guf_ functioned but hadn't said anything about the state of affairs of the souls in the first place.

If there was one thing that you did not do, it was meddle in archangel business. The archangels were possessive and had fierce tempers. It was a sure way to end up smote. "Yeah, so what are you going to do about it?" Kevin challenged.

"We are going tree climbing," Gabriel announced cheerfully.

Castiel was never going to get used to Gabriel's ability to be both the avenging archangel and the cheerful Trickster in one persona. Castiel shook his head. "Do you know where we are going to get an appropriate tree?"

"Got that covered, kiddo." Gabriel grinned.

oOo

Going tree climbing was not exactly as easy as Gabriel made it sound. Not only did they need to find a tree that was similar enough to the Tree of Life, they needed to connect the earthbound to Heaven. It was something that needed both an intricate hand for casting the spell and massive amounts of power to do.

When Castiel as a malakh was guarding the Winchesters and harm came to them, he had to physically be present to smite demons. When harm came to the Prophet Chuck whom the Archangel Raphael was guarding, the archangel had not needed a vessel but had also destroyed the contents of the entire room. The archangels had brute strength in the grace department. This strength caused them to lack finer control for delicate manipulations of grace, like extracting a soul from a human on death or forging weapons from grace, both of which were duties assigned to lesser angels.

Grace used couldn't be diluted, and because the archangel's grace was more potent, it was also more difficult to wield. Castiel suspected that if _Raphael_ had swallowed the souls from Purgatory, Raphael would have come out of it whole, even with the leviathans.

Theoretically, an archangel had enough grace to fuel the binding of two worlds, but the spell-work needed to be done by a proper flight of angels. Maybe even an entire garrison. It was intricate enough that Gabriel wouldn't be able to do it with sheer power alone.

It was an unprecedented task because in the old days their Father had done all the linking of worlds. It was also the reason why in all attempts of opening the gates, this particular method had not been tried. Not only were they sorely lacking in archangels, they also lacked the proper number to form a flight.

Gabriel and Castiel had deposited Leilah back to her garrison, and left Kevin back in the bunker because infiltrating Heaven while it was highly antagonistic was not part of either Kevin or Leilah's skill set. Besides, Kevin was alive, and it took a rare soul to arrive in Heaven without being dead.

"Why is every wavelength projecting 'kill Castiel'?" Gabriel asked as he drew Enochian around his chosen tree. The fig he chose was large enough and isolated enough that no one was going to notice two strange men vandalizing the area around the plant. "What the hell did you do? Kick everyone out of the playground?"

Castiel thought Gabriel might not have noticed that. He should have known better. It wasn't in Gabriel's interest to be circumspect. "I might have closed the Gates of Heaven by mistake."

That forced Gabriel to stop applying his grace around the roots and stared at Castiel for a long time before he could utter, "Cas, bro, no one closes the Pearly Gates by mistake. I had been under the impression that it was the bottom feeder scribe that actually did that."

Well, Gabriel now knew the gates were closed, in any case, and he knew Metatron did it. "Metatron stole my grace to make it happen," Castiel admitted sheepishly.

Gabriel's eyebrows lifted up before shaking his head and returning to writing Enochian. "Have you won the award of the most gullible angel in the garrison yet? I think I should rectify that somehow."

"Gabriel, focus." Because once Gabriel started on one of his spiels, it was difficult to get him out of it. Sometimes, Castiel thought Gabriel just liked the sound of his voice too much.

"Hey, I can _hear _that," Gabriel huffed out in mild offense. "I actually like looking at my vessel too. It ranks after _Casa Erotica_ and sugar candies."

"I think that's hardly appropriate," Castiel pointed out as he drew the other half of the spell-work on the ground. His required less skill, as it was a shaped like a "v" with a curl at the edge. Gabriel was doing a parabola, which took more concentration and was more difficult when it was done at sizes larger than two full-grown men.

Gabriel snorted. "You think everything is inappropriate. Hasn't that Winchester you're in love with changed you enough yet?"

Castiel summarily ignored him. Something else might take up Gabriel's attention. He was flighty like that. True to form, Gabriel indeed could not tolerate working in silence, and he did not like being disregarded. "Ever wonder why you keep coming back again and again?"

"Gabriel, I would really appreciate it if you would stop interrupting me from ignoring you," Castiel requested.

"Snark, from you? I was wrong, you _are_ letting the Winchesters rub off on you." Gabriel huffed as he did an intricate scrawl over one of the tree's roots. "But seriously, you've died what, three times now?"

Raphael's smiting, Lucifer blowing him up, the leviathan purging him, a couple of non-deaths in purgatory, a small part of him in the Croatoan infested 2014 that was a construct, but still enough of him to _know_. More than enough times, in Castiel's opinion, to never want to repeat dying again. Especially not while he was human. "I felt inadequate in the Winchester's company if I couldn't name at least one resurrection."

There was another pause in the soft scratch of the earth and the hum of Gabriel's grace for Castiel to know that he had surprised Gabriel. Castiel didn't know if he should be offended or just take Gabriel's surprise as a complement.

Gabriel inhaled and seemed to draw himself in. Castiel recognized it as Gabriel trying to arm himself to tell a story. Gabriel was the closest to a prophet that the angels had. Metatron may have written the Word of God, but Gabriel had been God's Messenger; he had relayed the Word.

"There are beings that are long-lived and tough enough to kill that they believe they're immortal; and then there are things that are truly immortal, because Father made it so," Gabriel related in the serious tones that he rarely used. He had stopped laying down the base for the spell and stood over one of the roots to infuse the Enochian base with his grace. "Father made fixed points where he anchored this world's creation."

Castiel made a small sound to show that he was listening, while watching the Enochian that surrounded the tree start to shine at a low-level, gradually glowing brighter as Gabriel poured as much grace as he could into it. Castiel sat down on one of the exposed tree roots to watch Gabriel and listen.

"Vampires, leviathan, pagan gods are blessed with longevity. But Death… Death is truly immortal. He _cannot_ be killed because death and dying is his purview." Gabriel looked up from his work and Castiel nodded. Essentially, there will always be Death as long as there is something dying in this plane. "Then there are the Pillars of the World: where this reality is anchored, for which without them creation would unravel.

"Father is something of a being like that: a pillar. He could be killed, but His essence remains the same. Once killed, He is reborn as God, but became something _other._ He grows up, He relearns."

"Like Jesus Christ," Castiel offers.

"Uh… that's actually Father showing his multiple personality disorder." Castiel sometimes didn't get how Gabriel became this irreverent, because surely an archangel would have better manners with regard to their Father when he was created. Although, Castiel couldn't judge, he had lost a bit of his faith sometime before the Apocalypse-that-was-not. "I mean three faces in one God thing? But… close enough.

"Angels were patterned after Father's power, which is why we have grace. Archangels helped him support reality." Gabriel hunched his shoulders forward and flexed in what Castiel thought might Gabriel be opening his wings to his full wingspan. "Man was made in God's image, which is why… limbs and a distinct lack of wings."

Castiel's brow furrowed. "The archangels are immortal."

"Not immortal. We _can_ die. We are _reborn_ as the same entity, but, in growing up, we sometimes change. It is the _position_ that is forever." Gabriel stopped infusing his grace into the Enochian writing, eyeing it critically. It had reached the point where Castiel's eyes would have burnt out had he looked at it directly. Castiel's human body was so very fragile. "You actually sort of indirectly referenced it when you summoned dear old Raph with the short Winchester. His scream of outrage was felt three _worlds_ over."

Castiel thought back to that abandoned house. It had actually been arrogant to leave Raphael there and taunt him. The summoning he'd used for Raphael was: RAH GAH IO ES_. One of the four that lives forever._

"Got it in one, sunshine." Gabriel winked, his expression that faraway look of remembrance, before he turned his attention back to the conversation. "Raphael is currently being fostered somewhere. Luckily, I was fostered in TV, so I'm basically _me_, too much exposure to _Casa Erotica _and little Easter eggs left by myself to actually change who I am inside. Whoa, Mulan reference there."

"I think I should be more concerned that Raphael is actually still alive and _growing up_ somewhere in the world." Somehow finding out that Castiel hadn't, in fact, killed the archangel was disconcerting.

A grin started to blossom on Gabriel's face, which had been serious up until that moment. Castiel suspected there was going to be teasing because Castiel had been a malakh, turned seraph, still below an archangel's power, but had gone up against one without batting an eyelash. "Dear old Raph is in time-out, he'll be a child for another eighteen years, at least. Besides, despite being a traditionalist and really hostile, Raphael has always shown that he was willing to forgive you even before you did a _Terminator_ on his ass. God has a plan and Raphael will see the big picture sooner or later."

"I'm not sure _I_ am taking the big picture very well," Castiel muttered. Anger was starting to pierce through Castiel. If archangels were never going to die, then what had been the point of the entire Apocalypse in the first place? "If Michael was going to live after his death, it was pointless."

"You have to understand, Michael and Lucifer have never experienced death. They don't _know_ this. It's very, very difficult to kill an arch and it hasn't happened until recently." Gabriel produced one of the lollipops Leilah had showered over him and popped it in his mouth. "Nothing is ever pointless, my dear padawan. If Lucifer died, Michael could have raised him up under _his_ image and vice versa. It's why the Cage was made in the first place, so no one _dies_. Plus dear old dad is a sap and would rather have forgiven Lucifer, despite his shortcomings. While there is life, there is a possibility of repentance. Yada, yada. Dad's mellowed over the years. I mean seriously, remember Sodom and Gomorrah? Now that was the Wrath of God, right there."

"If Lucifer was going to survive after we killed him, then why strive to kill him in the first place? Why strive for free will if we find out that we're just working out God's plan in the end?" Castiel just couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"Look, Cassie, Luci just needed to die once for the world to end and Revelation to kick-start. If those two had their big show down and Mikey won, Luci still had to fulfill the rest of Revelation, and he wasn't going to be able to do that _dead._ It's all pre-ordained, but it doesn't need to happen the way it's written_. That's_ why humans were given free will and choice."

Gabriel shook his head, momentarily lost in thought. He gave Castiel a rueful smile._ "_It doesn't prevent it from happening in the _future_, but yeah, it isn't happening now and that's what matters to you right? That your world isn't ending now? It's that Winchester influence in you. Besides, all of humanity's existence as we know it would have stopped and Earth would've reflected Heaven if the Apocalypse had progressed to its finale. Don't belittle what you did: free will, your choices, it still amounts to something. That battle at Stull, it was worth something."

Castiel shrugged he still didn't understand the bigger picture, but maybe he needed to be God to understand it.

"We've gone _waaaay_ off-topic," Gabriel said in exasperation. And Castiel tilted his head to the side, because he thought that that had been the message. "Point is, brother, I am an archangel. I am a pillar that holds creation up. I know why I came back. The question is… why did you?"

oOo

Gabriel's words rang a chord in Castiel. The Winchesters had been brought back to life several times, but the core of the matter is: someone had brought them back. There had always been a deal, a third party involved when they were resurrected.

Castiel had come back on his own and he had never proven who had done it. He might have thought it was their Father once or twice, but Castiel was not sure.

Gabriel had given him that piece of information before the archangel declared that they were through for the day and left Castiel alone to contemplate his thoughts, which is what Gabriel had probably planned in the first place.

Truthfully, they needed the Enochian sigils to steep in Gabriel's grace before Castiel could even attempt to invocate the spell. It was a binding, something that Castiel had never managed before, and it was a complex spell, so he needed at least a day in preparation.

Castiel had been reluctant to leave the spell alone, but Gabriel had pointed out first off that no one was going to be able to manipulate that much grace without an archangel, and secondly, the area was remote enough that it was difficult to reach for most mortals.

They had spent the day glued to the bunker's sofa: watching TV in Gabriel's case, and talking with Kevin in Castiel's. Kevin snorted as sounds of _Casa Erotica_ filtered through the common halls of the bunker, Gabriel didn't seem as if he was about to switch channels.

At one point, Kevin had stood up to tell Gabriel off, archangel or not, but Castiel had held him back. "Leave him be, Kevin. He has used up most of his grace infusing power into something that I could possibly butcher tomorrow. It will take some time before he can access his grace again, and losing access to grace for an angel as powerful as him…" Castiel trailed off.

Castiel's experience had been unpleasant, but bearable. Like he had been constrained in the here and now and could not stretch his wings, like he had been breathing and moving through water instead of air. But Castiel had been a soldier in the lower ranks. The archangels were used to bleeding off grace, snapping realities into life was nothing to them. Castiel couldn't imagine how cut off Gabriel felt now.

Kevin sighed but acquiesced. "Do you think you can do the spell? Gabriel gave off the vibe that more people usually do it. I've never seen a spell that needed more than one person."

Castiel looked at the spell he'd written down, Gabriel had provided the power, the Enochian around the tree would provide the base of the spell, but Castiel would be the one to invoke it and try to weave it into a semblance of being. He was the one who had chosen the words. He was the one who was going to control the flows.

If only this had been a spell of brute force then Gabriel, as an archangel, could have handled it. But Heaven's gates were made to withstand a siege of demons led by Lucifer himself. Gabriel trying to punch his way through by sheer power was not an option. So Gabriel would try to be the sieve that filters all his grace, while Castiel would try to manipulate the archangel's grace, to bind the tree.

"We'll see tomorrow, won't we?" Castiel folded the paper and kept it in his pocket wishing, not for the first time, that this spell could have been as easy as mixing a couple of hard to find items and then scribbling the solution down somewhere under the full moon. "The necessary steps to our spells have become progressively harder."

"It's called leveling up, Cas," Kevin said trying to lighten the mood.

It was more powerful than the time that Lucifer had bound Death, and Crowley had found that entire endeavor delusional to begin with. Invoking the power of an archangel while being human might not be the wisest of all their plans, but it was the only one they had. Castiel gave Kevin a rueful smile. "You do realize that I only get that in context, and I still do not understand that reference?"

"Cas, seriously, after this? Major couch potato time. We'll call Sam," Kevin said sternly. Castiel and Kevin had told Sam about their field trip to Gabriel's tree earlier that day. Sam had wanted to drive out, but the prophet and the former angel had discouraged him since they were simply waiting. Sam could better spend his time back in Lebanon working on the new life that he's attempting to build. "Let's bend Sam's arm backwards and threaten him until he introduces Charlie and geek out on… I dunno, _Dragon Age_. You can play a mage… or an elf."

From there, the conversation devolved to more things that Castiel couldn't follow, and it stilled something in Castiel. It reminded him of the day before they had summoned Raphael, and in that, it was a comfort.

oOo

When Gabriel had landed Castiel after flight, Castiel had not expected to find hundreds of angels standing around the tree. The Enochian symbols that Gabriel and Castiel had scratched around the ground and infused with Gabriel's grace glowed in the archangel's light. Overnight, the light had started emitting a soft ringing that had gradually become louder and stronger as the symbols around the tree had absorbed the archangel's power.

It had called nearby angels, bringing them en masse to stare in wonder at first the tree, then the Enochian and then the mere fact that they were feeling an archangel's grace.

"Is this what you meant by 'it's in the middle of a mountain and no one sane would trek this far?'" Castiel couldn't believe the sheer magnitude of the angels that had arrived.

Gabriel winced as he looked at the angels gathered around staring with part-reverence, part-fear. "O—kay," Gabriel drew out the "o" as he turned and assessed the number that had come. "I said 'difficult to reach for most mortals.' Angels ignore the 'difficult' part and go follow the Song even if it's ill-advised and would harm their vessels."

Almost as one, the angels moved to try and approach Gabriel, both in awe and because they could see his wings. Regardless of who he was, Gabriel's wings had survived the Fall, and all of them wanted to touch and feel what had once been theirs and whole. "This feels eerily like I'm Na'vi and we're chanting to the Tree of Souls."

Castiel frowned at Gabriel because they were actually going to something like a Tree of Souls and the archangel wasn't making any sense. Gabriel smacked his palm against his forehead. "I take it you have never watched James Cameron's _Avatar_ either?"

Castiel hoped that the look he gave Gabriel conveyed how annoying it was when people assumed he could understand their shared references. Gabriel gave him a shrug before Castiel listened to the ringing, trying to understand what it was. "The tree is calling."

Gabriel extricated himself from the throng as he approached the tree and flattened his palm against his bark. "Nope, it's more the spell. The Enochian base is similar enough to my horn that it's calling to angels." Gabriel winced. "Aaand regardless of the base of the spell, unleashing this much grace was bound to get some attention."

"Gen—"

Gabriel shot the angel who had spoken up a glare in warning, and the angel had swallowed the last syllables of the title before he continued.

"Gabriel. Are you leading us back to Heaven?" he asked.

"Not enough juice for that, kiddo. I have just enough to bind the Tree of Life for one to go through," Gabriel answered mournfully. Murmurs rose after that; the Song was quite deafening in the clamor of everyone to volunteer to pass through the Tree to access Heaven. Gabriel waited for them to quiet down before he slapped Castiel's shoulder painfully. "Cassie here needs to be the one."

"Castiel!" Again there were protests along the vein of the Song but Gabriel waited them out.

"I have virtually no grace left, I can pass through a smaller opening and faster than any of you," Castiel explained to the angels who could hear him, although Gabriel gave him a look of exasperation. Archangels never explained their choices, they just were. "Besides, I am Gabriel's _draconarius_."

Gabriel winced as he eyed the restless mass of angels in front of him. "Really, Cas, bringing up that you're my standard-bearer now? You haven't even held that silly dragonhead flag in three millennia. Not even after some dick taught the Romans some of our military tactics and had _signums_ too." There were loud whispers. Angels hadn't heard or needed a standard bearer in a while, but their wars rarely needed entire armies, nor did they need standard bearers because they had the Song. Despite Castiel holding that position, he had had very little interaction with Gabriel during their wars. He had reported to Anna and she in turn had been under Gabriel.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, brought his fingers to his lips and whistled. It was a piercing sound that cut through the current discord that was the Song. "We're linking this tree today and I'm sending Cas up. End of discussion." He turned towards Castiel. "Time to get this show on the road."

Castiel touched the sigil written around the tree, and Gabriel's wings rustled as the grace he'd used to power the sigil flared. Castiel swiped his blade across his palm and added drops of blood to the ground. He felt the start of the spell and the familiar thrum of grace that echoed while the other angels' eyes were heavy on him. They would not willingly risk an archangel's wrath though, so they had all followed Gabriel's orders and stayed back.

"ZOMDV LONDOH VAUNILAGI_."_ The tree started to glow with Gabriel's grace as soon as the first words were uttered. Castiel, through Gabriel, weaved the tree and the Tree of Life together, his words twinning them and bringing them closer. Gabriel raised an eyebrow at the words Castiel chose for the spell. "C NANTA AZAIZOR PERIPSAX_."_

The spell circle that they'd infused with grace pulsed, until the blue light of grace separated and floated above the written Enochian. It was like they were seeing an after image, but not exactly. Castiel could vaguely see it with his human eyes. If he still had his grace, it would have been wondrous. Wind began stirring the tree's leaves, shaking the tree violently. It was strong enough to muffle the next repetition of the spell.

Gabriel stepped closer then leant his voice to Castiel's own giving power to the chant. Castiel felt the world snap and reach and _tug _against his will, which caused him to pause between one syllable and the next. Gabriel squeezed Castiel's arm in support as Castiel found his way back to the word. Another angel, Hannah, took up the spell along with them.

The words and Gabriel's grace wove through the Song and brought even those outside their little grassland tree with them. Most who could lend their voice and their strength to polish the weave and make the spell whole started to take up the incantation. The tree took up the sigil's brightness, and began to look like it was becoming superimposed with a larger tree. Castiel closed his eyes because the visual was making him dizzy with his human eyesight.

Even with his eyes closed, the light seeped through his eyelids, the chant ringing loudly in his ears, until there was a sudden pop, akin to the change of pressure when changing altitudes and a sudden darkness. When Castiel opened his eyes, Gabriel was standing in front of him with a wide grin, leaning against the Tree of Life.

"Sometimes you really surprise me, kiddo." Gabriel straightened from the Tree of Life, placing his hand against the trunk as if welcoming an old friend before he approached Castiel. "Quoting Matthew?"

"'On Earth as it is in Heaven.' You quoted Matthew with the Winchesters too. It seemed appropriate," Castiel answered as he rubbed his eyes to get rid of the flashes of grace. Castiel took a deep breath before opening his eyes to see his surroundings. He knew fundamentally when his grace had been stolen from him that it might take a while for him to reach Heaven again, so this coming home was unexpectedly bittersweet.

"You are _awesome_!" Gabriel praised, and Castiel didn't know if it was because Castiel managed the spell, because Castiel quoted Matthew when he made up the spell, or just because Gabriel felt like a little praise was warranted.

"I think you're misusing the word 'awesome', Gabriel," Castiel said distractedly, taking in where they had landed in the circles of Heaven. Gabriel was muttering about Castiel not caring about word use when _Dean _used it, but he was summarily ignored.

Through Castiel's human eyes, this area of Heaven looked like the swirling swathe of the night sky, with low-lying clouds and bright burning stars. Heaven reacted to live souls differently than angels, and without grace, Castiel couldn't see past the three dimensions that his human senses told him about the surroundings, so he was a bit lost. Castiel tried to guess their location though, "So we're in Vilon then?"

"_You're_ in the first heaven. This is a projection. We could only power that spell transiently," Gabriel corrected as he motioned to himself, and for the first time, Castiel noted that Gabriel was seemed almost incorporeal. The first circle was the easiest for them to link, not only because it was the closest to Earth, but also because Vilon was Gabriel's domain.

As an angel, they had all passed by the first circle of Heaven whenever flying around Earth, because access to the first heaven allowed them to fly great distances at humanly unimaginable speeds. Had Castiel still been with grace, being in the first heaven would have been a whorl of light and song, because angels without vessels existed in the abstract.

At least they had accomplished a transient binding of the tree. Maybe Gabriel's affinity for the Tree of Life, Vilon, and souls helped. The unexpected presence of the other angels didn't hurt either. "Can you fix the souls reaching those unborn children?"

"The Tree told me it had connected with Michael and lost my signature. Whatever you think of big brother, his default setting will not be to shuttle the souls out of here. He probably just didn't know the Tree needed my coding." Gabriel turned back towards the Tree of Life, flapped his wings to reach one of the flowers that bloomed for him, before letting it fall on his palm. Gabriel smiled at the pulsing light before he blew it away, to disappear to where it needed to be. "Done, little brother."

"Michael is still locked in the Cage." Castiel frowned, not understanding as Gabriel landed in front of him. "How could he form a bond with the Tree while being incarcerated there?"

Gabriel shrugged, although Castiel noted that whatever conclusions Gabriel drew for himself bothered the archangel a little. "I think it would be wise to make a little trip to Alcatraz and visit our very own Frank Lee Morris."

"If you mean that you think Michael escaped, then I will check," Castiel said in exasperation. He stepped towards the Tree to navigate his way towards the third circle but was stopped from going further by Gabriel's hand on his shoulder.

"Cas, you're not a soul here, and you're not an angel either," Gabriel warned. "Heaven will treat you different from what you're used to. She might treat you as other. You will not be able to create as freely as other souls who truly belong in Shehaqim, you will travel as a mortal travels. You might be constrained by Heaven's boundaries."

The last man who ascended both body and soul into Heaven was a Righteous Man who received the Word of God. That had not ended badly. Castiel took it as a portent and prayed for his small miracles. "I know, Gabriel. Thank you."

Castiel hesitated before going. "Gabriel… the babies, they will be fine now, yes? The souls will be able to reach their destination now?"

Gabriel gave him a cheeky smile. "Always the Doubting Thomas aren't you, Cassie? Yes, brother. We have talked, the Tree and I, and we have reformed our bonds. I am here, I have connected to the Tree. The delivery of souls has been my task since Creation and it will be done until I lose my connection again. I will not lose it unless the Gates remain closed or whatever anomaly Michael caused repeats itself."

With that, Castiel reached for one of the Tree's low hanging flowers, different from the soul-blooms that Gabriel had chosen. It opened its soft petals in welcome bearing the light it was hiding for Castiel, before it fell into the ground near Castiel's feet.

A spring bubbled from underneath the Tree, then unraveled and flowed until it divided into four streams and continued to the horizon and beyond. Castiel looked back towards the Tree and decided to take his chances with the origin instead of the stream. He took off his shoes and waded in the water.

"See, different," Gabriel noted just as Castiel's head disappeared underneath the stream, leaving Vilon for Shehaqim.


	10. Finding at the Temple

**Chapter 10: Finding in the Temple**

Planning how to infiltrate seventh heaven without Metatron knowing anything was not a simple task. Metatron was the heavenly Scribe that maintained the archives, kept most of the souls' records and oversaw the other 'recording' angels.

He was in charge of what was a heavenly equivalent of Santa's good and bad list. Because of that, to enter Aravoth after passing by the now absent guardians Dumiel and Kaspiel, (which Ash also helpfully informed Dean, could also be transliterated to Castiel) all souls wishing to stand before the Throne of Glory had to pass by Metatron.

It didn't exactly make for easy pickings. In Dean's absence, Ash and some of the other hunters managed to find some obscure books on the Circles of Heaven through what they thought of as old angel outposts. Ash had helpfully translated one of the books (which Dean now called _The Big Book of Heaven_) into English and left it with Dean to work on.

Dean found himself back in his heavenly equivalent of the bunker's library staring at large volumes that he'd rather not read. It was boring work, relieved only by Ash's visits (and therefore other hunters he brought along as well). One such day found Dean antsy from the lack of action, until Ash had left Bobby with Dean.

Bobby was hauling in a clunker of a car and invited Dean to work on it with him. Dean would never understand just _how_ Bobby stumbled upon it… it wasn't like people actually could drive by asking for Bobby and Dean to fix their cars. Dean suspected, but would never be able to prove, that Bobby had just dreamed up the car to take Dean's mind off the current problem.

Dean was looking for one of his tools in what passed for the bunker's garage when he noticed one of the weapons mounted on the wall. He frowned distractedly, leaving his tools behind to look at the bow and arrow clearly.

Bobby stopped working to give him a questioning look. Dean touched the feather on the fletching, his eyebrows furrowed. "This ain't ever been here before."

"Not here when you were alive, or not here since you built this place?" Bobby clarified.

"Not when I was alive—"

_Castiel stood up and fingered an arrow from the display case showing it to Dean with a knowing smile. "A little larger than a cherub__'__s arrow, I think."_

"_Stop being such a tourist, Cas," Dean teased under his breath as he pocketed the notepad that he used in cases while the owner of the shop had his back turned to them. "This case looks like a standard salt and burn, so why are you thinking about cupid__'__s bow?"_

"_I always think of Metatron__'__s Spell in my free time." Cas grimaced as he let go of the full quiver and looked around at the shop. It was a sporting goods store that had enough of an arsenal for hunting game, like deer and bear. He followed Dean outside and headed towards the Impala._

"_So… what do you have?" Dean asked once Castiel was already seated in the passenger__'__s side, noticing the well-worn paper Cas had pulled out. It was torn out of the ubiquitous notepad they toted for 'detective work__' __and filled with marks that were actually color coded with scribbles over the components of the Spell._

"_Kevin has an interesting theory on it," Cas said slowly, although Dean couldn__'__t understand the hesitation. He thought Cas would be ecstatic over _any_ theory with regard to the Spell. "He postulated that the Spell tried to recreate the first sin of my brethren against yours."_

_Dean__'__s eyebrows furrowed in thought. "You mean Lucifer__'__s Fall?"_

"_Lucifer__'__s chief fault lay in pride: that he was better than humans, that he was better than our Father, that he cannot love beings that are intrinsically _flawed_." Cas head thumped heavily against the headrest as he leaned on it, eyes closing in what was close to despair. "And thus Metatron__'__s Spell found symbols that united both angels and humans, symbols for angel__'__s love for humanity and desecrated it in such a way that angels have no other recourse but to fall. It was then just a simple matter of closing the gates." _

_Which is why it was irreversible. If Heaven sees all of them as having Lucifer__'__s first sin, then the gates would have truly barred to them. "So why the long face, Cas? It seems like a solid theory. We__'__ve worked with less."_

"_Of all the angels in Heaven that Metatron could have picked, he picked _me," _Castiel said in the tones of the truly remorseful. "I am tired of causing my brothers harm. I am tired of being broken."_

_Ah, this was self-deprecation then and not really about the Spell. Dean knew a thing or two about self-worth. "Cas, believe me, I know broken and you ain__'__t it."_

"_Not broken?" Cas gave a soft pained snort, one that showed both his disbelief and the depth of what he'd lost. "I cannot even help you anymore, and I have been manipulated one time too many, and quite frankly, I am unsure why no one has called me out as an idiot and then punished me for my mistakes."_

_Dean stared at Cas, trying to come up with a decent answer that didn't border on chick-flick. He understood that Cas missed his angel mojo, but Cas has been close to graceless before, and his worth had never been defined by being there and fixing things when things got rough. Family was more than blood and Cas has been family for a long time. Dean could forgive many things if it was because of family._

"_No one has punished you for it? So this entire self-sacrifice, leaving yourself in Purgatory, that ain't enough of a punishment for you?" Obviously it wasn't, obviously, in angel-camp, Cas thought he deserved more than death and dying. Dean took a calming breath before continuing, "Look, we've all done some messed up things, we're all idiots. We get called out on it almost everyday. Listen to Bobby rant once you get your wings back."_

_Cas looked unimpressed about Dean's spiel, but the angel did keep emotions close to his chest. Dean would have never noticed it if Cas hadn't brought up the Spell. When had they designated Cas as the get-out-of-jail-free card? They'd been wallowing in their own problems that they hadn't allowed Cas to develop any self-respect. _

_There was no convincing the angel of his redemption, and frankly Dean wasn't the best person to reassure Cas of that. So Dean tried to take a different approach. "If I understand Kevin__'__s theory, then Metatron chose you because if the entire theme of his Spell was love and you__'__re the angel who__'__s been consistently devoted to humanity. No one _else_ could have done it." Too much heart, Samandiriel had said, and that had been the core of the Spell hadn__'__t it?_

_That statement didn__'__t seem to have cheered Castiel up at all. "Dean, I__'__m not as devoted to the entire human race as I am devoted to you."_

_Dean covered his embarrassment by coughing into his fist then turning on the ignition. "Spell then, you were thinking to deconstruct the Spell to purify the angels of their metaphysical sin and _then_ open the gates. So you were planning to get something that had broken apart angels and humans and purify it? What have you got for Cupid__'__s bow?"_

"_It is Heaven__'__s will encouraging the human heart to find its mate." Castiel pocketed his note then absent-mindedly tapped the dashboard. It was something that he had learned when he became human because as an angel, Castiel had been unnaturally still. There had been an economy of motion that was absent when he had lost his grace. "The cherubim__'__s symbols are the bow and arrow because love wounds while inflaming the heart."_

"_Sooo__… something that attracts?"_

_Castiel hummed in thought. "The string of Pharzuph."_

"_Please don__'__t tell me that you find that in the middle of Egypt under a sarcophagus buried with flesh-eating scarab beetles," Dean said dryly as he maneuvered out of the parking lot and towards their current motel, where Sam was waiting. _

_Castiel looked appalled. "Of course not. Pharzuph was a malakh who fell. He ties people together with his string to meet in lust. His symbols usually show his depraved mind and his trickery."_

"_I can tap myself some of that."_

"_Dean," Castiel reprimanded, "you get enough people to 'tap__' __without the aid of the string."_

_It was Dean__'__s turn to grimace. He could almost see the air quotes Cas used in that sentence. "__Well__… deconstructing a spell with ingredients that need to be snatched from demons seems a little counterproductive to me."_

"_I__'__m sure we can get hold of that somehow," Cas said readily. "We__'__ve worked with less."_

_Dean raised an eyebrow at his words being thrown back at him. Cas answered with a slight curl of his lip up._

"Is it a mnemosyne?" Bobby asked. Dean took the weapon from the wall and brought it back to Bobby so they could both look it over. Dean waited for Bobby to explain that because Dean had never heard of a mnemosyne before. "Some souls make 'em when they build their heavens. There are some memories we lock away, sometimes we forget memories more than once. A mnemosyne is sort of a clue, so we remember."

Dean watched Bobby take off his baseball cap. It sounded like Bobby had learned that from experience. Dean briefly wondered what memory Bobby had repressed then remembered before he turned his attention back to the bow. "Why would I shut out the Spell?"

Bobby shrugged. "Lots of people forget for different reasons. Maybe you knew it was something that wouldn't exactly help you with peace in the hereafter."

Dean looked around the room, a bit frantic. If he already worked out the Spell with Cas, then the batcave might contain other clues. Bobby eyed him from where he was standing as Dean inspected everything in the room for any triggers.

How had he _forgotten_ that he couldn't just open the freaking Gates of Heaven? He needed a spell that would make Heaven recognize its citizens again.

He had done a half-assed job of going to the seventh heaven without even knowing what he needed. He had no idea who the Caretaker of the Throne was, he barely knew what the counter-spell to Metatron's own Spell was and he couldn't even reach the Throne. He'd shown his hand to Metatron for nothing.

"I don't think it works that way, boy," Bobby apologized, approaching him and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It doesn't come when forced."

Dean breathed in deep gulps of air to steady himself and crouched at one of the lower shelves that he'd haphazardly jostled to see its contents. "I just feel so damned useless here. I promised Cas I'd do _something_ and this sure ain't _something_."

Bobby pulled Dean up to his feet. "That angel of yours has believed in you since he pulled you out of Hell. We're in Heaven, our coin is faith and promises. Cas believes in nothing—no one else—but you. You won't disappoint him, no matter what comes out of this clusterfuck."

oOo

"_Hey, Cas… do you ever think about dying?" Dean asked slowly, if a little drunkenly, while perched on top of the hood of the Impala, clutching one of the last bottles of beers. Dean knew he'd made a resolution somewhere against drinking and Cas because they always ended up sickeningly depressing, but if he didn't shower Cas with booze, no one would._

_Castiel eyed him critically. There was a long enough pause that Dean thought Cas wouldn__'__t answer. It was long enough to think that, had the angel still retained his wings, he would have flown out of the conversation ages ago. Dean seriously thought he__'__d broken these pauses out of his angel already. There was nothing but awkward in long stretches of silence, staring at a dude who looked like he was trying for a Vulcan mind meld. "Every day since my grace was taken from me. Most especially since April knifed me."  
_

_Dean winced. Yeah, there was that. If there was one thing to be said about hanging around the Winchesters, it was that you had to be ready for imminent death. It said something about Castiel__'__s life when the least threatening of all deaths was merely described as a "stabbing."_

_Dean straightened up, opened and closed his mouth several times, to which Castiel gave an amused huff with a fond smile. It was the kind of smile that Dean figured Castiel wouldn__'__t have had if he__'__d still been fully graced-up. "You can ask me anything, Dean. I have found that there really is little that I wouldn't do for you." Including leaving the bunker on his say so with barely a complaint, which was all sorts of fucked up. It _was _how they__'__d ended up on the Impala after Cas__' __botched date night._

_"Ever thought of trying to go back?" Dean asked looking up at the night sky, the gibbous moon was shining it__s__ small sliver against the multitude of stars. The alcohol was making him maudlin. How appropriate. This conversation never would have happened without the alcohol. Surely. Probably. Maybe.  
_

"_Of course." The answer was hard and fast. Decisive, as Cas the human had never been decisive. "But… I was malakh once, then I fell slowly. I still had my grace but it was an ebbing thing, I had no soul but I had the Song and the Song was enough. I was a seraph twice and that was a fierce burning joy, because it was an unexpected gift. I was a false god briefly, I had enough leviathan in me to be considered one, been lauded as a prophet and faith healer when all I had been was lost and amnesic and now I am human. Do you understand what that means?"_

_"That you have a dissociative identity?" Dean quipped. Castiel had lost him at malakh and seriously, they hadn__'__t really thought about going through lore about angels because they had Castiel. At least if Dean had read up more on angel lore, he__'__d understand where this conversation was leading.  
_

"_I have tasted existence fully, and nothing compares to being human. I didn__'__t understand that before I grew a soul." Castiel shrugged and placed his burger on the hood of the car. He__'__d taken to eating burgers again in much the same way Dean had always taken to eating pie. "I will end up back in Heaven, whether I__'__m an angel or not."  
_

"_But you__'__re alone down here," Dean pointed out. And Dean wished he had a brain-to-mouth filter, especially with alcohol, because, whose fault was it that the angel was alone in the first place? "And you've been sad about being graceless."  
_

"_I'm not 'sad' about being graceless, I am sad because of my inability to help and because I was instrumental in the fall of my brothers. There is a distinction."_

_That explained why there was a distinct lack of vice that Dean had seen with Zachariah's version of Castiel. Cas didn't need to fill the gaping holes that his grace had left with drugs, booze, and women. Maybe Cas had filled those with family and hunting, the way Dean had filled the mom-and-dad shaped holes in his life with the same things._

_Cas' gaze sharpened as he watched Dean and said, "All right, Dean. What is this really about?"  
_

_Dean froze and sat up from the easy sprawl he__'__d been on, because he hadn__'__t expected Cas to catch on to him that early. But Castiel had pointed out in many occasions that he was an expert in Dean Winchester, probably only surpassed by Sam. "I dunno, opening the Gates of Heaven seems to be something doable. We tried closing the Gates of Hell didn__'__t we?__"_

_"And how do you propose we do that?" Castiel asked matching Dean__'__s rigid posture, eyeing him critically over the slits of his eyes. "I think I remember that we failed spectacularly in that endeavor."_

"_Spectacularly? Really?" Dean asked incredulously. Way to rub it in Cas. __" '__Cuz I would__'__ve just called it failed and left it at that."_

_Cas rolled his eyes. "Dean? How are we doing this?"  
_

"_I could—you know—__die,__" Dean said slowly, Castiel reached out for Dean looking like he was going to strangle the hunter in frustration and Dean ducked instinctively. The angel glared at Dean while the hunter looked mournfully at the last bottle of beer, spilled uselessly on the asphalt after he__'__d kicked it out by evading Cas. "Geesh, Cas, what the fuck? I didn__'__t mean now."  
_

_Cas calmed down visibly and returned to his relaxed pose at the car__'__s hood. __"You will die sooner or later, you cannot help but die. Death is mortality defined. By that time, I will still be here, there is no rush to open the Gates of Heaven because it will be a mere moment for me."_

_"But you know, angels out to get you," Dean said while waving widely out into the big breadth of the unknown. Castiel was vulnerable on Earth without his grace, much like Anna had been before they__'__d restored her. "__I just don'__t want you to…"  
_

_He trailed off after that because anything said after that would be too sappy even without the alcohol and the stars and the Impala. It would sound too close to girly feelings and he was sure he wasn__'__t drunk enough for that._

_"As long as I know that you are willing to do it, and that it will be done, it does not need to happen in the immediate future," Cas reassured Dean, picking up the burger that he__'__d carefully positioned and took a bite. "And as I said, I am beginning to see the appeal of humanity and why Anna fell in love with it. It is something you cannot appreciate fully without a soul. And I now have that."_

oOo

Dean opened his eyes and gasped with the deep breath of the drowning. Maybe it had been the arrow, maybe it had been the beers he drank with Bobby after that, but he was remembering. He ran his hand through his hair and looked at the clock.

Ass o'clock in the morning. Perfect for brooding and generally sleeping in if he wasn't already forcing the days in his heaven to go slowly so that he could come up with answers for Cas faster.

Dean rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before crawling out of bed. His eyes landed on the piles of letters as he made his way out of his room. He'd spent an hour reading through three of them. One of Sam's, one of Cas', and a random pick; but he'd stopped after that.

Reading prayers from those that he left made Dean feel impotent. Heaven was nice and wonderful up to the point that you realized that while he was lounging around here, there was a fight down _there_.

There'll be peace when you were done? Bull. There wasn't any _done_. Done didn't happen for hunters like Dean. Abbadon and Crowley were still fighting over Hell's vote, the angels were still walking around lost, Metatron was still being a giant dickbag and Lucifer and Michael were waiting for another go at the Apocalypse. Awesome. He shouldn't have agreed to Sam's equally insane plan to _let each other go next time._

Hadn't it been easier when his world had existed in the clear-cut black and white, when the dead remained the dead? When demons were full on monsters and angels didn't exist?

Dean rummaged around the fridge for something edible before he remembered he was in his heaven and thought up an apple pie and a burger. Master chef he was not, but conjuring pie out of thin air still hadn't run out of awesome after the first ten thousand slices.

He was about to start eating when his eyes landed on a potted plant in the middle of the table. First off it was the bunker, not a goddamned conservatory and second, who had decided it was a brilliant idea to put live things where he eats?

Dean reached out to pluck one of the flowers. It was pink, clustered together shaped as a heart with a small drop like pod at the bottom. He took his burger and the flower to the library then pulled out one of those botany books that catalogued these kinds of things.

The flower had been crushed in his failed attempt to juggle the large book, a burger, and the cutting in his hands but he had managed to reach the table with the items. Dean was just thankful that they actually had a book like this to name plants in spells and such.

The hunter flipped through the pages, one hand turning the leaves of the book while the other was preoccupied with his burger when he spotted the picture. Cramming the last of his burger into his mouth and wiping his hand on his shirt, Dean picked up the flower and set it beside the picture. The caption read: _Bleeding heart._

"Heart of a nephilim," Dean murmured touching the flower's petals. It was another mnemosyne then.

He reached over to one of the books scattered on the table, left after a frustrating day of research and opened it to one of the marked pages. _Nephilim: Ezekiel__'__s mighty fallen. A product of an angel__'__s folly with human desire, the union of humanity and angels in one act of love__._

Dean already got that somewhere down the road, or in less dictionary terms from Cas, in any case. What was actually new was the annotation written over after reading the translations Ash sent over that said: root _n-ph-l _which means 'fall' and another post script written after that: 'those that cause others to fall down'.

Dean huffed out a breath. What could he substitute as a purification for that? He dropped his head on top of the book thinking, _Another soul? Angelic babies?_

He groaned out loud because, angelic babies? Seriously, was he even touching that with a ten-foot pole? Didn't they sprout out fully formed from the head of their Father? Okay, that was a different religious belief all together, but still. Dean didn't think putting a soul in this spell was going anywhere. Besides his ideas were already spiraling down to the ridiculous.

He took a deep breath before lifting his head enough to rub his eyes again. It was when he noticed the blue underside of his wrist, he frowned absent-mindedly and rubbed it before he realized, _The blood of an angel__'__s victim__._

The victim as a product of an angel's hate, purified for forgiveness. It was definitely easier to find in Heaven than Castiel's string of Pharzuph. Pamela could do in a pinch, although she wasn't really harmed by hate rather ignorance; Jimmy could probably be one but he had been a willing sacrifice.

Dean had gone out of his heaven to throw the idea around. When he brought up the idea with Bobby for suggestions, the man said, "You could always just use your blood." The idea came after Dean had junked almost everyone he knew that they could easily talk to.

"I dunno," Dean said uncertainly. "I ain't much of a victim."

Bobby snorted. "You were Michael's chosen vessel but Zachariah tried to force you plenty. You were hurt because you were Heaven's chosen. It doesn't need to be a physical act of violence, boy, although Lucifer did almost beat you dead."

That was one memory Dean would rather not relive.

"So what are you going to do?" Bobby asked offering a beer to Dean. "You still have one ingredient to remember, right?"

Dean hesitated before he accepted the proffered drink. "I've always known the last ingredient: Cas' grace."

Bobby paused from taking a swig off the beer bottle. "Always knew that angel was in love."

"What?" Dean squawked, almost coughing up his mouthful of beer.

Bobby looked at him critically before clarifying, "With humanity. He was the one who got the Spell's ingredients together, wasn't he?" Dean nodded in response before Bobby continued, "Makes sense that the Spell really was all about tainting an angel's love for humans. For the counter spell you'd probably need the inverse: an angel who hated human kind so much, that hate caused his fall."

"I don't think I can actually trick Lucifer into getting all those ingredients for me," Dean muttered dejectedly. Dean had put an angel's tainted grace in the back of his mind until the other ingredients had been located. However, deep down Dean had known that Lucifer's grace had to be the one they needed to power the counter-spell. Lucifer was the only being that fit the criteria. There could be other angels, there could be other demons, but purifying the grace of a tainted angel screamed Lucifer. "And no one else is up this side of the watchtower."

"Don't need to trick Lucifer," Bobby said thoughtfully. "What we need is a bargain."

Dean closed his eyes. He had not wanted to hear that. "I'm going to the Cage again, aren't I?"

oOo

Dean was up in his elbows with weapons deciding which ones he should bring. He didn't think he'd be needing them this time around when he hadn't needed it the first two times, but Lucifer had a way of getting under your skin and the familiar cold steel was a comfort.

"Now, are you getting ready to ambush Aravoth?" Metatron asked behind Dean.

Dean wanted to throttle the angel. Yep, Metatron was still an annoying little douchebag of an angel. Not even all of that research that Dean read had changed his opinion. Elevated from the secretarial ranks his ass. Metatron had probably been a suck up douche.

"Don't you need to win a People's Choice Awards somewhere?" Dean asked annoyed as he sheathed another blade inside his boot. "You really want me to go out and hunt you now?"

"Well, that seems to be the Winchester answer to everything. Hunt, kill, maim." Metatron shrugged. "I'm just hurrying you along to the realization that you can't kill me."

"Reality check: the world doesn't revolve around you," Dean said stalking out of the bunker's weapon's room straight into the garage. When he entered the Impala, he found that Metatron had mojo-ed himself into the passenger seat.

"This is my playground, it _does_ revolve around me," Metatron insisted with his fake as ass pout. Goddammit, that face should have never been bestowed to a grown ass man, much less a vessel for an angel. If there were a one to ten scale of pathetic, Metatron would've bordered on a fifteen.

"You're this toddler who can't stand the thought of sharing his playground others. The only difference between you and a three-year old is that you're mean-spirited enough and know enough to lock everyone out," Dean practically shouted, almost hitting the steering wheel in anger. "Are you going to harass me until I get to my destination?"

"I am forever. I have been alive longer than you. I sincerely doubt that you could wait me out."

Dean couldn't toss the angel out, and he couldn't reason with him, so apparently, Metatron was going with him to the Cage. Awesome. Just… awesome. Dean glared at the angel as he shifted to reverse and backed out of the garage, onto the idyllic lakeside.

Metatron didn't seem to have a response to that so he attacked instead. "What did Sam say when you let 'Ezekiel' in to fix him up? I may be selfish but I'm not cruel. I don't force people who're ready to die to live in spite of themselves."

Dean noticed that his knuckles had gone white gripping the steering wheel of the Impala. He forced his grip to loosen because Metatron was not goading him to a fight. "Get out of my car."

Metatron chuckled. "Got on your nerve there, Dean, didn't I? Stop trying to get into Aravoth or I'm going to get my second in command to hunt your brother and angel down. Your brother has stopped hunting, he's probably dumbed down now. And your angel? He's human now, it's going to be delightfully easy to pluck his wings."

"Taking out a page from the history books and doing a Children's Crusade?" Dean asked dubiously.

Metatron laughed, his beady eyes looking at Dean. "You think my second in command was that _child?_ I told you she was a pet."

"Yeah, and I told you to get out of my fucking car," Dean repeated, this time swerving towards the side of the road and hitting his breaks suddenly.

Metatron gave him an amused look before fluttering out of the car with his wings. Dean took a moment to calm himself before getting the car back on the road. If there was one thing he'd learned from his father, it was that hunters didn't negotiate with freaks of nature. John would've been proud.


	11. The Annunciation

**Chapter 11: The Annunciation**

Let there be light; and there was light. The angels were a promise, a thought, during which the world was created in a matter of days. After light, came water, and from the waters a firmament that divided Heaven and Earth was made. The firmament was the dividing line, and the-one-who-creates called the firmament "Raki'a." It became the second of all Heavens, where the stars were connected and taught.

The world was made and remade in those few breaths on the highest circle where the Creator sat. He created the rivers of fire, making it spring from underneath His Throne. In these rivers the angels were born of fire and heat. From this fire they were created, purified, and blessed. They were spawned as light and hung on Raki'a as its stars, to watch as all of creation unfolded. Angels were made to rule over light and day and divide the light from the darkness.

When He finally came to the last angel, He said in a whisper, or maybe it was a song, for angels were created to hear music. "VATECARA SAVLD Z BALIT SA TVLE." Thus they were given His grace, and they called him Father, for it was He who made them whole. The grace He gave, because it was His power; the sword angels forged, because it was His will, and finally the wings were bestowed, because angels were first and foremost His messengers, and it was His grace personified in them. Thereupon, the youngest angel was made whole, His celestial being, finally given name and purpose: "Castiel, Angel of Thursday."_  
_

He bid Castiel to stand before the gates of bronze, the seventh doorway. He became guardsman with his brother, Dumiel, before the final heaven, where in his hand a sword lay unsheathed. Its light and blade would blind those who were not worthy to stand before King and Throne. His Father ordered him to wait until the angel was called again for a higher purpose.

A light caught Castiel's eye, brighter than all of the other stars—a sun in their midst. The angel flexed his wings of light and dust; his voice was distinct, but he was still part of the starlight shining in the heavens. He reached for the sun's rays—

Castiel blinked in the middle of what he supposed was the equivalent of an angelic road, parsed together by experience and the usual expectation of what the axis mundi was. He looked around and there was no path, no angel, but there was the North Star that hung unassuming in the night sky.

He looked at himself and noted briefly that he had taken the form of Jimmy Novak in this brief respite, between one memory and the next. It was a novelty for Castiel who had lived out his existence thinking that he wouldn't have the chance to build his own niche in this vast space that was their home but _wasn__'__t._ Because in Heaven, especially in the third circle, only the dreamers could hold thought solid enough to build.

There was the feeling of his wings unfurling, something that he believed he had forever lost, robbed of his grace and flight when he had been cast aside as mere means to a spell. He closed his eyes just to feel the thrum of grace against his wings, a faint echo that he'd almost forgotten and unfurled the other two sets of wings bestowed upon him after being granted life after death.

Reality came crashing down on him when he realized that no, there wasn't another set; he wasn't given the means to ascend and descend the heavens with a real set of wings. This was his axis mundi, and these were memories: Castiel's vision of his identity. Castiel identified with the vessel Jimmy Novak so strongly that he'd been given Jimmy's form and Castiel had, for the longest time, been a malakh, therefore axis had given him a malakh's grace while inside the axis.

Castiel was in Shehaqim, the third circle of Heaven, and his perception as an angel had made it different, but he was still in an axis mundi. This was still memory, not truth. Castiel was still without his grace no matter how much the axis made it feel like he did. This was still a path towards the Garden or his final heaven, depending on which fork in the road he chose.

Testing the strength of his primary flight muscles, Castiel thrust up on the down stroke of his wings, before gliding towards the star, trying to pull himself along its orbit, reaching for its bright light.

Once Castiel reached the heavenly body, he knew immediately where his road in the axis mundi had led him: Hell. Hell is one of those places that had an unforgettable feel to it.

Castiel had been surprised to find that Hell's structure was a mirror of Heaven's as they went deeper into its nine circles. Hell's deepest chasm culminated in what its residents liked to call the "Pit." The Abode of the Damned evolved to suit its ruler's needs. This incarnation was similar to _Dante__'__s Inferno_ because Lucifer had been amused by the thought of someone visiting his domain to write a book about it.

Castiel had descended with enough angels in the flight to fill a garrison. After they had crossed the river Acheron, the ability to soar had given the angels advantage. Here, the demons were land bound.

Beyond the walls of the City of Dis, though, the angels' numbers had started to flag. There was no light in nether regions of Hell, and an angel was a form made of light. Here, the demons were forms made of darkness, an effect of many millennia of twisted and blackened souls. Here, the demons' physiques were whatever suited them, from twisted monsters to things that could render an angel's wings useless.

By the time that Castiel reached the Plain of Fire surrounded by the Wood of Suicides, his grace was bleeding through. "Brother, the Righteous Man, do you think he is still unbroken?" one of Castiel's brothers asked him.

"The Righteous Man shall remain precious, whether or not he is broken," Castiel said in response. Castiel remembered Michael's song in that moment. That the Righteous Man has had a difficult life, but the Righteous Man was a blade forged and reforged in the fire of trials. The Righteous Man was not a brittle soul and his rescuers cannot be the ones brittle for him.

Blade in hand, Castiel slashed through the last demon within their reach then alighted on one of the few trees that had no soul nailed onto it. A river of blood fed its roots and off to the side, Castiel could see the river churning and boiling. Castiel sounded out a call through the Song, listening to the survivors.

Seven voices weaved in one. One flight from the ten that they'd had while passing through the Hell Gate. Angels were not made to be weary; they were not made to feel time. They had been fighting on Hell's borders for more than two decades by Hell's reckoning; it was more than enough to cause them to spiral into something that closely resembled despair.

Once the entire flight was complete, Castiel signaled for them to fan out and fly, and they followed the trail of the Abominable Sand, which sucked blood off from the boiling river. As they descended and fought and bled their way through Maleboge to reach the first circle of the Pit, Castiel lost his brothers.

Micah perished at the hands of a demon horde that had previously been whipping the seducers. They had ripped his wings and chained him down while the demon's charges had continued marching. Charmeine had been forcefully abandoned when the demons gouged out her grace with her own sword; then contorted her grace until it was only the muddy black of the damned. Next, they put her together wrong until she was blind to Song and spirit. Maion, who had been the embodiment of self-discipline and guidance, had been buried alive and then locked in chains, forever to burn in eternal torment, as an angel was forever. Kushiel, Paschar, Mihael… all lost between the intervening years.

In the middle of the deepest darkest part of Hell, Castiel would have wept for his fallen comrades, if not for the mission. Castiel looked up, and he saw the light of the Hell Gate seemingly impossible to reach from the depths. Of course the demons would show the Hell Gate, for what is torment without hope? Demons break a soul by feeding them the tiniest scrap of hope and then taking it away.

Castiel could not fail. He was the last angel standing and he out of them all had reached the deepest. Again, he remembered Michael's song, and Castiel tucked that away inside himself, for that song was light amidst the darkness. If Castiel was bordering on defeat, then the Righteous Man must feel infinitely worse, because he had not seen light for forty years.

And then at last, in one of the deep corners of this never-ending torment, a bright light. Changed, as all souls are changed in Hell, tarnished by Hell's touch, but still bright. In this soul's hands was a blade, and he was trained with it, masterful in his torture of another soul on the rack.

Not a demon yet, this soul. It was the brightest that Castiel had seen in a millennia, tucked away in one of the dark corners of the Pit. The soul was obscured by the dark as he tormented and carved and killed on the breaking wheel. The torturer's subject was weeping, the last of its flesh stripped from its bone; the mess of its insides pulsing and wet on the floor.

Souls take their human shape in the Pit because it is all they have known. Castiel was still grace made light. Castiel could still intervene and had the upper hand. In an instant, Castiel was between the rack and the blade. There was a wide smile in this human's eyes, slightly mad, slightly anguished even though he was the one holding the knife. "Hail and be glad, o favored one," Castiel whispered, recognizing the soul, if not his form. "At long last, God's messenger has reached you. Salvation is at hand."

With those words, Castiel approached to touch the Righteous Man and pulled, pulled him towards the bright light that was the Hell Gate. The angel did not need to go through all the circles of Hell now that he had found his charge, and bypassed Hell's levels by flying straight up. He was a comet reaching for a sun. Castiel enveloped the Righteous Man's soul in his grace while the Righteous Man shouted and struggled to break free of the angel's hold.

Slowly, Castiel remade Dean Winchester as they ascended, from bone to sinew to breath, not flinching even as Dean struggled. Dean had tried to gouge out the angel's light, lashing out to try to stay in the Pit. Souls always tried to go where they were familiar, because it was a comfort to them. This soul remembers only the Pit, and it was trying to return. So Castiel tried to soothe him with Michael's song, not noticing the human's futile attempts to slash at his grace, as Hell became lighter and lighter.

"You freak of nature!" Dean Winchester roared when he had regained his vocal chords, and was able to spit out words and curses. "Save _them_ not me."

In that moment, Castiel understood why this soul, out of all the souls, was the Righteous Man. Dean was not fighting so that he could remain; he was fighting because he thought there were others more worthy than him.

When Dean was almost complete, Castiel had to take the form of man, since a soul made into mortal shape was difficult to hold while in an angel's celestial form. Despite that, Castiel was still grace made flesh. Castiel remained without a vessel and had burned Dean's shoulder, because an angel cannot interact safely with man without being housed in a corporeal body. Dean had hissed through the pain of it. "Be still, Dean Winchester, fear not. Behold! You have found favor with God."

When at long last Dean was made whole, Castiel managed to reach the brightness of the Hell Gate and fly through it.

This soul, this was the reason, this feeling, this purpose, this moment… this was the reason this memory was included in Castiel's axis mundi. Not just because it was a triumph of finding the Righteous Man, but because this meeting was important. Because this meeting would change the course of Castiel's entire life.

Castiel burst through the axis mundi expecting to be cradling Dean Winchester, but slowed down when he realized that he was alone once more. Castiel looked around as he tried to get his bearings. He was still remembering; he hadn't found the exit.

Castiel was older than the dirt made on Earth's shores. He had accumulated more than enough memories to fill the axis mundi for him to be living through them for quite a while. Though he might have liked to do that once he was actually dead and buried, he had a mission and all these memories were in the way of the ending.

He was gliding in the way that angels glide through light and sound and time, but he closed his eyes and snapped back towards the alleyway near that Den of Iniquity from so long ago. Dean was laughing madly, joyfully at the fact that they were minutes from being kicked out and had escaped two large looking bouncers.

At the time, Castiel hadn't known why Dean found the situation funny. Now though, Castiel could see how his being awkward and unschooled in the ways of men had brought comic relief to the dire situation.

Castiel had followed Dean on this night despite being terrified of the concept of physical intimacy, because Dean had wanted to give him both comfort and a memory prior to an encounter that Castiel had thought he would not survive. Of course, after the pronouncement that Bert and Ernie were gay coming from Dean, ending up in a brothel wasn't exactly how Castiel thought the entire night was going to proceed.

But Dean had succeeded in lifting Castiel's spirits and stopped Castiel from over thinking. It had been precious, regardless of how the night had ended up.

Castiel watched Dean as he bent over in laughter before he noticed graffiti on the wall, spray-painted as the star of David. With one last look at Dean saying that he hadn't laughed that way in years, Castiel strode forward to a different memory.

The next memory found Castiel sitting down together in the middle of Bison Bud's Bar, with the Challenger's number fifteen jersey hanging on the wall, beer bottles on the table and pool tables surrounding them.

Dean was on his third beer, Sam had left them and Castiel was staring at his second bottle, which was definitely two bottles over his limit as a human.

The banter had been easier before, when Sam had been present and they had been talking about April and being human. Castiel had to ruin it by open his big mouth and point out that Dean had looked uncomfortable with regard to Castiel's status in Team Free Will. He just couldn't get his social cues right, slipping up and failing. But this was one of the nights that Castiel had enjoyed, where he saw hope in the fact that he got along with the guys.

"Look, it doesn't mean that we ain't working together that we _ain__'__t _really working together," Dean explained in his rambling sentence, that Castiel supposed made sense to _Dean_ but not much to Castiel. "I just need to get Sammy up to… working order."

Castiel nodded, because he always followed whatever the Righteous Man said, even if he didn't understand much of what it meant. It said something about him that he'd traded one blind obedience for the next, didn't it? "It doesn't matter, Dean, truly. I am happy to help you with what you need."

Whatever else Dean was about to say was interrupted by Castiel noticing one of the figures on the side of the bar, masked and caped and out of place in Castiel's axis mundi. Castiel had left Dean alone rambling about one-night stands and trying to get Cas to hook up with one of the girls in the bar. The night had devolved into what Cas would remember as him becoming pretty wasted before he'd had to search for his own way: contacting Muriel, being tortured, followed by fighting his way out of Malachi's captivity.

"Sorry, man, didn't want to intrude on your memory, but you've been pinging and blasting on my angel radio the entire day," the masked figure explained when Castiel approached.

"The angel radio," Castiel repeated slowly. "You must be Ash then."

"You've heard of me?" Ash asked startled, pulling off the mask, his lips in a wide grin.

"The Winchesters have talked about the time that they remembered their heaven with me at one point or the other," Castiel affirmed. "Can you get me to the Cage?"

Ash looked surprised at the request for a minute before nodding. "Sure you want that dude? I mean, not a lot of people skip on their axis mundi. It's the best parts of your life. Like finding an application of string theory and just being completely excited about everything, you know?"

Castiel's eyes swept through the bar, the scantily clad women, the pool table, and finally Dean talking animatedly, as if Castiel was still seated on the table perusing the other people in the bar. "No, I am done. I can settle once I am truly dead."

If Castiel were truly honest with himself, in the past millennia or so, he had never really had true happy moments, because he'd merely existed. He had been content with that existence, until he realized that his happy memories were made up of Hell, his creation, and talks over beer with Dean. Maybe Castiel would build better memories once he was through with this mission, enough to fill his axis mundi with stories.

Ash paused for a moment, regarding the former angel with scrutinizing eyes. "You got a name on you, dude?"

"Castiel."

oOo

When Castiel still had grace, the Cage had looked like a monstrous thing: built with light and sound and power and will. It was something that angels had rarely touched, and was guarded with the strictest of confidences. In Raki'a they had stood as silent guards, because Lucifer's power was strong even behind its locked doors.

It was why the Cage was forged in the second heaven but could be accessed in the third: so that his brothers could talk to the prisoners on the third heaven where Lucifer's power was more diluted. In its making, the Cage had been constructed like an oubliette on Shehaqim, instead of the standard rectangular jail cell that it looked like on Raki'a, for that same purpose.

Now, the Cage looked somewhat nondescript and ordinary, if you could call bars made of blinding white light ordinary. As if Castiel's mere presence had summoned the archangel, Michael was waiting for him.

"Brother," Michael acknowledged Castiel, choosing a familial bond, rather than rank. It set a lighter tone than what Castiel would have chosen for the encounter, but Michael was his superior, and this was his prerogative. "Have you found what you've been looking for?"

Castiel stopped and re-evaluated what he wanted to say to the eldest of his brothers. They had met as adversaries before, when Castiel rebelled against Michael's orders. Inside this Cage though, Michael was free of plans, free of leadership, and free to be himself. "I don't know what you mean," Castiel answered, folding his impotent wings and settling in front his general.

Michael shook his head. "You were never something that fit into the cast of angel, Castiel. You might not blend well with humans, but you have never been truly one of us either."

To be denounced by your own kind hurt. Castiel hadn't known that he'd wanted to belong so badly until he'd been faced with the truth of the matter. He was an outcast and an angel's cornerstone was the feeling of belonging. It was why angels cut off from the Song perished. "I did not come here to talk about me."

Michael raised an eyebrow. The Song was thunderous through the Cage, the soft rumble of being, of knowing. "Yes, little brother, I see."

Castiel paused. Michael was being cooperative, and it unnerved him. The archangel had nothing to gain from talking to and helping Castiel in this endeavor. Castiel was an insignificant speck in the choir that was the hierarchy built into the host. Encouraged by Michael's graciousness, Castiel started with his plight, "I came from the Tree of Life. It had latched on to your grace so souls were not being delivered to humanity. Gabriel and I have corrected it as best we could, but I wanted to see if it was something that you caused."

Michael barked out a laugh, surprising Castiel. The oldest archangel had always been serious to a fault. "You have found that I'm still where I'm supposed to be, brother. But my vessel runs amok in Shehaqim, and Heaven might have done something unexpected when he touched the Sacred Tree."

Castiel gave a perfunctory nod. Gabriel could work that out, as the souls were his purview, and he would understand that better. "I also came to ask about the Caretaker."

Amusement danced in Michael's eyes. "Still running errands for your charge, Castiel?"

Castiel's gaze hardened. He didn't want to antagonize the archangel, one of the few sources that he could find on the Caretaker, but he didn't want to be belittled for the stand that he had chosen. "He's been a guide, brother, a kindred spirit. Dean Winchester is the North Star that keeps me in my course with the decisions that I make. He has a very clear conscience about it: everything is black and white. It makes things… easy for me."

Michael nodded showing that he understood. "A paragon of humanity, Dean Winchester. I have chosen well for a vessel… maybe too well. Had he not been so like-minded, he might have said yes to me."

Castiel thought that Michael would ignore his question about the Caretaker, but he was proven wrong when Michael's eyes glowed the deep angelic blue of grace and his voice rumbled on the prophecy that Castiel had been looking for:

"_For he who is cast the lowest, ascends the highest.  
__He shall be burned clean in thought, in spirit, in breath and in light.  
__Dubbed as the final Pillar before the Throne of Glory.  
__Behold: the Caretaker, until he stands before the Ancient of Days."_

Castiel blinked at the resounding thunder and fanfare. Heaven still managed to dole out its prophecies in riddle rather than anything remotely useful. Michael shook his head. "If it was easy, brother, it wouldn't be worth it."

Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes – it was the human influence in him. Michael _would_ take that stand. "I don't know what any of that means, Michael."

"Little one," Michael said. Castiel would have left at being called such a diminutive nickname when he and Michael did not have much more of a past than fighting against each other, but Castiel needed Michael's wisdom and Michael was Cas' elder. "None of us know anything. It was Spoken and then written down in stone before it was handed to us. Father built us a house, gave us company, ordered us for purpose, and promptly left us."

It wasn't reassuring when one of the angels who have seen their Father's face admitted to not knowing the plan. It was what had gotten them in the mess that was the Apocalypse-that-wasn't in the first place.

"But…" Castiel trailed off, lost at the sudden realization that his quest had come to an anticlimactic end. He had managed the fetal deaths as much as he was able and had found out what Dean needed for a prophecy. "How do I fix what I have done wrong?"

There was sympathy in the archangel's eyes. "Would that Father give me His Kingdom if I could fix what _I_ had broken. Angel of Thursday, I would give you this one gift: absolution."

Castiel stepped back, wondering if he had been that transparent in front of the Winchesters. It was insightful of Michael to say so now, when the archangel had barely paid attention to Castiel when he had been a foot soldier in the garrison. "I don't need it from you, Michael."

"But you need it, all the same, do you not? Accept it for what it is: a gift." Michael eyes lost focus momentarily, his body slightly turning towards the other end of the Cage, listening to the voices that only he could hear. "It's best you leave, brother. The Morning Star is finishing his conversation with his own guest, and I do not think Lucifer would welcome your visit."

Michael stretched out and tugged Castiel so that Michael could reach the younger angel, despite the bars inhibiting the archangel's movements. He made it so that Castiel was partially inside the Cage, similar to when Cas had stolen Sam from this prison. Michael pressed a kiss on Castiel's forehead for benediction and was gone.

Castiel stared for a few moments at the space that Michael had left, briefly wondering if he would manage to understand what had just transpired, before turning his back and leaving.

After Castiel visited Michael, there was a brief moment where Castiel just didn't know what to do. He had seen to the souls and only needed to report back to Gabriel about Michael's answers. Castiel had also seen to the prophecy, but since Dean didn't seem to be listening to his prayers, it was highly unlikely that Dean would be able to piece the prophecy together right away.

Ash had taken the former angel as near to the Cage as he could, before Castiel had decided that he didn't want Ash to be subjected to Lucifer's presence. It was a worry that Cas should not have bothered with in the first place, because Lightbringer had not even been present.

While flying had been sorely missed, the concept of doing something 'just for the heck of it' had never been part of Castiel's outlook on life, so trying out his wings for more than reaching places wasn't part of the plan.

Looking for his grace wasn't something that was feasible while Castiel was mortal and alive. He couldn't navigate all of Heaven with the false set of wings the third circle had bestowed him. While the angel wanted the burn of his true grace and the feel of his three pairs of wings, he couldn't see how he could go through all seven heavens and their endless possibilities without losing his sense of self.

Because Castiel was suddenly mortal, in spite of his wings taking form in Shehaqim, he could not enter his favorite heaven. He decided to rest on one of the low lying branches of the Tree of Life, lost in his own home and still completely barred from it despite being _in_ it. The Tree could bring him to higher or lower circles, but leaving the third circle meant that he'd be stripped of his wings again.

Castiel pondered the words Michael had given him while staring out into the ripening souls clinging to the Tree. The only being that Castiel could think of that had been 'cast the lowest', was Lucifer, and despite their Father's forgiving nature, Castiel couldn't reconcile the Angel of the Bottomless Pit to also be the Caretaker of God's Throne.

The difficulty with an angel trying to decipher prophecy, especially with an angel like Castiel, was that prophecy was in allegory rather than literally. It was the reason why prophets interpreted, because most angels could not.

What Castiel did know was that, though he may not get the nuance of prophecy, most of it was built around a framework of specific themes: like the angel and the demon tablet. If Castiel could find the framework, he might understand the principle and from there infer who the Caretaker of the Throne was.

It still didn't make for a good plan, and he still didn't know what he was going to do next. He would probably still end up on Dean's doorstep. Castiel was still lost, and maybe the hunter could give him insight where his own brother could not.

The angel rested his back against the trunk of the Tree of Life and gave over to sleep. In the space of time between sleeping and waking, where all things makes sense, Castiel realized the true question that Michael had been asking of him: _Have you found what you__'__ve been looking for, brother?_ Have you found belonging? Have you found home? Have you found absolution?

Castiel fell into the deep slumber of recuperation before he could decide on an answer.


	12. The Descent of the Spirit

**Chapter 12: The Descent of the Spirit**

In the end, going to another person's heaven had been as simple as inscribing Enochian sigils on the ground of Heaven's Garden and passing through it. Castiel may not posses real wings, but he had seen how Ash had made doorways, and they had been Enochian. The angel beat himself up for a few seconds because he had not realized how Ash navigated Heaven sooner. Cas had always relied on his wings to travel, so he had not needed to think about an alternate way until then. He went to Dean's heaven, then hopped over to the front of Bobby's porch when he had found the lake-house empty.

Once at Bobby's, a woman, whom Castiel presumed to be Bobby's wife, opened the door for him and stared at him in confusion. No one expected strangers visiting in Heaven.

"Hello," Castiel said uneasily, wings tucked away in their usual space, false grace tamped down, and the usual perturbed, awkward frown that he had not yet outgrown when talking to strangers. "I was wondering if I could talk to Robert Singer?"

She gave him a welcoming smile before motioning him to come in. Bobby's heaven was the scrapyard that he'd lived in when he was alive, but it had the touch of a woman: flowers and crocheted doilies, where once before there had just been the messy piles of books, lore, and phones that had been stacked haphazardly. Bobby was moving out of the living room, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Castiel.

Momentarily stunned at the angel's appearance Bobby blurted out, "What got you dead, boy?"

"I'm not. I'm just visiting," Castiel answered, looking around the house and still marveling at how one person changed the way Bobby had been on Earth. "I needed a third person insight and this seemed the best place to start."

"You been to Dean's place yet?" Bobby asked as he waved Castiel into his library. Karen smiled at them before mentioning preparing food for their guest and leaving them alone to talk.

Castiel shook his head. "No one was there when I stopped by, and I did not want to stay too long without the owner there. I might influence his heaven in unforeseen ways."

Bobby made a noncommittal grunt before dropping down on his desk chair. He rubbed the bill of his cap absent-mindedly before asking, "So what's up that noggin' of yours that has you knock-knockin' on Heaven's door?"

Castiel took out the piece of scrap he'd dreamt up and written the prophecy on before he handed it to Bobby. "Dean was asking around about the Caretaker of the Throne so that we can open the Gates of Heaven. Michael has given me this much to work on, but mostly I have no idea who this is."

Bobby frowned as he read over the lines. "Dean said that Lucifer attacked so he got squat, but Dean got the impression that both of those dickbags knew who this was, or at least had an idea."

Castiel processed that information slowly and shook his head. "It may be that Michael thinks that there is a lesson to be learned from trying to find out who this is, or he is just speculating as well. Could you pass this on to Dean? It might help him with opening the Gates." Castiel could try other garrisons, other flights of angels, but what had been true before was still true now, anything important was usually kept in the higher circles.

"That idjit is off and trying to one up that angel douchebag and open _your_ Gates for you. We ain't seein' each other any time soon," Bobby grumbled, but kept the prophecy in one of the desk drawers. "What are you doing?"

"I was planning on searching for my grace," Castiel said immediately. It had seemed impossible earlier, but talking to Bobby had given him a bit of hope. "I could be of more help to Dean if I retrieved it. I am in Heaven already, it seems like the logical next step."

"You got ideas on how to go about that?"

"I can't physically search Heaven. It is infinite and I do not have the means to travel fast enough without my grace outside of Shehaqim. Even if I had my grace Heaven's boundaries are quite fluid and immeasurable," Castiel admitted. He had toyed with using the same spell he had used to track Anna, but that would just reveal Castiel's location instead of his grace. "What I do have is a working knowledge of my grace and Heaven in general. Whenever we posses a vessel, a minute amount of our grace is left behind."

Castiel formed a syringe in his palm slowly, examining it to see if it was correct before handing it to Bobby. "I would really appreciate it if you could extract my remaining grace from this vessel."

Bobby took the syringe and eyed it dubiously. "You sure about that? Your grace might be the glue keeping you together." Bobby motioned towards Castiel.

It was better than doing nothing, and he was more useful to Dean and the Host in general as an angel. Castiel would miss a lot of things about being human, though. "I'll get through this. I'll walk you through it," Castiel said asking for a pen and a mirror so he could see what Bobby was doing.

"If you're sure, boy. Go lie down on the that couch." Bobby pointed, gathering the things that the angel asked for.

Once Castiel had arranged himself sufficiently on the couch and Bobby had dragged something comfortable to sit on to make the angel's neck eye level, Cas hyperextended his neck and drew a line on his neck from his ear to his clavicle, "This muscle is the sternocleidomastoid." Castiel then pointed to the area that bisected the muscle he previously mentioned. "This blood vessel is the external jugular."

Bobby huffed. Most humans knew that injuring anyone in the neck could kill them and not much else, so Castiel knew where the apprehension was coming from. "Why is it again that you're getting a hunter to extract your grace when we're in Heaven and we could probably scrounge up a doctor somewhere?"

Because they _were_ in Heaven, Bobby couldn't do him too much damage. Castiel didn't see it as something that would relieve Bobby's anxiety over the procedure, so he continued explaining to alleviate Bobby's worry. Although the explanation didn't help much with Bobby's unease, the old hunter soldiered on.

"Puncture the site here." Castiel instructed as he took the ballpoint and mirror that he'd requested and marked the area that was crossing the external jugular and the lateral border of the sternocleidomastoid. "Just don't go for the pulsing carotid and you'll be fine. Please don't stab me with the needle, an acute angle works best. Point the needle towards the clavicle and just advance the needle slowly under the sternocleidomastoid, aspirate slowly and you'll get grace."

Bobby glared at Castiel before proceeding to do as he was told. Castiel clutched at the side of the sofa and bore the pain. While the procedure itself was a needle prick, Bobby probably had never used anything more than a peripheral vein in his life.

Castiel knew the moment Bobby hit his grace. The pain was excruciating, worse than the time that he'd been flayed in Raki'a during his indoctrination. It felt like Bobby was breaking off pieces of himself, scourging them, then pulling out all of his bones and nerves, and setting them ablaze. By the time that Bobby had filled an entire syringe, Castiel was close to passing out, sweat dotted his brow, and he had made gouges where his fingernails had torn through the leather on Bobby's couch.

"I hope that's enough, boy, 'cause I don't think I can do that again," Bobby said as he set the full syringe on the low table beside Castiel.

Castiel looked at it, with its glowing tendrils and its foggy swirls and despite the pain, he smiled.

oOo

Bobby had offered Castiel room, but without the Winchesters, the angel felt like an intruder in Bobby's home. As soon as he could pretend to walk straight, Castiel had drawn sigils for the Garden and left.

The axis mundi was a road filled with memories leading to a soul's final heaven. Castiel wasn't dead, therefore he had no personal heaven. This left him no choice but to recuperate from the ordeal in the Garden.

The water that bubbled from the Tree of Life helped the healing process, but the Garden in itself was built in the beginning of time for humans as Paradise: no wounds or harm could befall mortals while in it. Fortunately for Castiel, he had taken good enough care of Jimmy Novak's body that his grace wasn't the "glue that's keeping him together" as Bobby had inferred. Extracting the vestiges of his grace hadn't debilitated him, and the pain due to the procedure was present, but bearable.

While the Garden was the center of human construct in Heaven, it was also a place of solace for angels. There, Castiel felt like he was in the presence of God. The former angel leaned his head against one of the tree trunks and sank down into the greenery surrounding it. He didn't know how long he spent there sleeping, but he woke up surrounded by a couple of deer, some raccoons, and even a few squirrels. Cas was pretty sure there were other animals present as well, but he couldn't be sure because most of them were nosing around and wreaking havoc by trying to eat his hair, investigate his pockets, and climb over his shoulders.

"I understand. Next time find higher sleeping ground," Castiel acknowledged and sent them on their way by emptying his pockets and gently pushing them. One squirrel had looked back and chattered in a sort of farewell before it was lost again in the trees and the shrubbery.

Castiel flicked off the leaves and specks of dust he'd accumulated before walking towards the Tree of Life and requesting entry to Vilon. The Tree accommodated his request by dropping Castiel in the middle of the vast expanse that humans have named Heaven and cosmos before they knew there was anything beyond their clouds and their brilliant sun. To angels, this place was simply: the first circle of Heaven, which they used to fly.

Gabriel's apparition lay on one of the roots of the Tree, one of his wings idly flaring out and ruffling. He swooped down immediately, once he noticed the younger angel's presence, eyebrow raised and wondering about what Castiel had found.

While Castiel regaled Gabriel with the story of the Cage and the prophecy Gabriel started to become more focused. The archangel was silent until Castiel procured the bottle where he'd stored his grace from Bobby's little extraction.

Gabriel took the vial in his hands, shook it to watch its light blue glow, and told Castiel that he was impressed that the angel still had that much inside of him despite being made human and growing his own soul in the process. Gabriel's eyes lifted to Cas. "You're going to try to get a fix on your grace, aren't you?"

Castiel nodded, because there was nothing else he could do, and it was a rare opportunity to be in Heaven in the first place.

Gabriel hesitated before handing back the glowing vial. "You realize that you're never going to taste peanut butter and jelly the same way? Being an angel, all of these emotions that you have inside you now that's clear and strong, you'll feel it too, but it's going to be muted. Grace wasn't meant to co-exist with a soul."

"It is a small price to pay to be useful again," Castiel admitted. He could now understand why Balthazar and Gabriel had chosen to distance themselves from the Host and why Anna chose to fall. Being human was different, limiting in some ways, but it was pure and exhilarating.

If there wasn't a war and Castiel wasn't needed, he would have gladly spent the rest of his days human, just to see the humans' remarkable strength. They had the ability to persevere, despite not having grace to back them up, and managed to look forward day to day into the unknown.

Gabriel reached for Castiel's shoulder and squeezed it in comfort. Castiel had half expected Gabriel's hand to pass through his shoulder, but it was surprisingly solid, despite Gabriel's claim that this was a projection. "Cassie… that prophet and the Winchesters don't just appreciate you for your grace. They see your courage and your strength… They see _you._" Gabe paused. "Geez, I sound like a soap opera."

"That's what makes taking my grace back easier. They need me right now and it would be a great disservice if I cannot give them the most that I can be," Castiel said in the quiet tones of conviction, ignoring his brother's last comment. "This fight with Metatron, the angels locked away from Heaven… this isn't even the Winchester's fight, it's ours. They've taken the burden on their shoulders because it's what they do, but I have the opportunity to change that."

Gabriel nodded once, Castiel was glad that Gabriel didn't push it. Maybe Gabriel had understood certainty when he saw it. "You were blessed by Mikey," Gabriel said, noticing Michael's grace. "Let me give you my blessing too."

Michael had given benediction despite Castiel being uncertain of it. Now in front of the Third Archangel, Castiel thought maybe it was time to ask for redemption instead of shunning it. "Gabriel, Commander of the Legion, whose only superior has been Michael, I would ask mercy for me, a sinner," Castiel said the lines, ancient, and ritualistic.

There was a small twitch in Gabriel's lips, because Gabriel found most things funny, despite this ritual being reverent and sincere. It was the opening rites of a confession, so Gabriel nodded and motioned for Cas to continue. "All right, Cas, let's hear your sins."

Castiel has been removed from the Host for so long that he'd forgotten what it was like to have a superior to look up to. Despite it being archaic to be dependent on someone, it was also a lessening of burden. He started with Balthazar, because though it was not the most recent of his crimes, it was the embodiment of his largest. That he had betrayed a friend so that he could remain within the Winchester's trust.

Castiel rambled on from there, working with Crowley, going on with the souls, waging civil war, and demolishing Sam's wall. Letting Sam out of the panic room, and taking the angel tablet. He even confessed of going to the Den of Iniquity. What it was, was a bearing of soul to Gabriel in its entirety, nothing was too trivial to leave out. It was non-linear and muddled in the way that confessions were, but it was there honest, open, and brutal because Castiel willed it so. "I am sorry."

Gabriel lifted his fingers to touch Castiel's forehead, the soft pulse of grace warm on his skin. "Give thanks, for our Father is good, and His mercy endures forever," Gabriel whispered in sanctification.

Castiel opened his eyes and waited for a pronouncement from Gabriel, but the archangel just stepped away and gave him a clap on the shoulder. "Gabriel, my penance?" Castiel asked in confusion.

"You've done enough, Castiel," Gabriel said, one hand on Castiel's arm to steady him. "But you've never wanted to hear that from _me_. You think that basking in Dean's presence is worth more to you than finding redemption in his hands. This helps, but it was never as important as Dean's company. It's why you punish yourself endlessly, because you cannot _ask_ him for forgiveness."

Castiel was doubtful that any penance coming from him could ever be adequate, but maybe this blessing, this atonement, would deem him worthy to be a receptacle of grace once again. Maybe not enough to be forgiven for his past sins, but enough to be host to his grace.

Gabriel clucked his tongue and brought his fingers to Castiel's forehead again. "_I know you think I'm pissed at you, okay?" _Dean's voice in prayer, strong as it was when he'd uttered it, weighted because of the predicament he had been in then. "_But I don__'t care that the angels fell. So whatever you did and didn't do, it doesn't matter, okay? Please, man, I _need_ you here."_

Castiel had lost the ability to hear prayers when he'd lost his grace, so this prayer, solemn an urgent, had been lost until Gabriel gifted it. Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Was that enough of an absolution for you? He forgave you long before you asked for it, Cas. Stop punishing yourself."

Redemption felt like a long way off, but this was a start. Castiel wished he'd heard that prayer when Dean had uttered it, because in essence it had been a plea for help, but that time was over now. He could only do what could affect the future. "I need a spell to find my grace."

Gabriel motioned for Castiel to hand over the vial with his grace and uncapped it, setting the blue mist free. Gabriel blew on it softly and helped it along the Tree of Life, where it nestled among the leaves until finally resting on one of the spheres that embodied Aravoth.

After a few moments, the pod enlarged, pooling bright light. It was different from when souls ripen on the Tree. A girl, fresh faced and young walked out of the pod when it was wide enough and stepped into Gabriel's proximity. Dark curls, bright blue eyes and the naïveté that came from being newly made. Castiel eyed her wearily, although there was a distinct tone that made her sound familiar.

"Why try looking for it when the Tree can bring your grace to you?" Gabriel asked, grinning as his eyes tracked the child stepped cautiously into Vilon's cosmos.

"What do you mean the Tree can bring it to me?" Castiel asked dubiously as the girl walked closer to them in curiosity.

"Pure creation, wasn't it? In Aravoth where all angels are made?" Gabriel asked rhetorically then knelt down before the little girl, giving her his hand. "_And thus we are changed by experience, thought, and light. Burned through in the River of Rigyon, where we are destroyed, where we were once created. _Hello, child."

She rubbed her eyes, as if wiping Sandman's dust away from them and blinking owlishly up to Gabriel. "An archangel is in Heaven again. Hallelujah, for we are not alone," she whispered in awe, her hands letting go of his to pat Gabriel's cheeks, as if she wasn't sure that he was there.

Gabriel gave her a cheeky grin before turning to Castiel. "Kinda reminds me of you when you were freshly made: easily impressed and quite innocent."

"All of us were easily impressed and innocent," Castiel countered as he stepped forward to get a good look at the child. She reminded Castiel of Claire Novak despite not sharing any physical similarities. Castiel hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.

"I know you," the girl said to Castiel now that Gabriel had shifted attention to the graceless angel, her eyebrows knit in remembrance. "I think I am your shadow."

"You are his song and his wings," Gabriel informed her gently, stepping back from her so that she could turn in the direction of the dark-haired man. "He has come to welcome you home."

"Ahh," the child said, as if everything made sense to her, and maybe it did. In Castiel's limited scope as human it didn't, but maybe to her it did. "I have been waiting so very long for you."

It dawned on Castiel that she was not a construct to find his grace, she _was_ his grace. Suddenly, Gabriel's words made sense. Somehow, during his loss of grace, she had come into contact with the River of Rigyon. Because the river creates angels and because she _was_, by definition, pure creation, she was made into being.

Finding his grace had always been about the abstract, of finding power pulsing and bright. It had never been about blue eyes and sentience. Castiel hadn't expected this girl at all, with her wonder and innocence.

"This girl has been touched by Luci," Gabriel commented as he stood up, his palm resting on the girl's head.

"Did Lucifer harm you?" Castiel asked, concerned.

"I have not been granted the memory of him," the girl answered, her head bowing. "I have not been granted much of memory but the Scribe."

"If you count the fact that Raphael blew your guts to oblivion, you've kinda collected all four archangels," Gabriel realized. He furrowed his brow that Castiel used to associate with Gabriel thinking up of ways to torment angels in the garrison.

"I don't think that Raphael 'blowing me up' counts, Gabriel."

"Really? 'Cuz although I think dear old Raph there did all that in anger, it does count as purifying your vessel. _Thus God must send a purifying destruction upon them." _Only Gabriel could quote the Bible and still sound masterfully irreverent while doing it. It must be the eyebrow waggle.

Castiel sighed in exasperation. "If that's the case, then Lucifer gets that distinction as well. Raphael has not been the only angel to reduce my vessel to particles so fine that you'd think it was red mist."

Gabriel's eyes rounded in fascination. "Your vessel has been blown up by two archangels, your soul has been touched by two and your grace has been influenced by one. You're kind of an attention hog there, Cas."

"I don't think it's relevant." Castiel didn't understand the Gabriel's fascination.

Castiel and the girl stood there for an inordinate amount of time before Gabriel finally said, "You were looking for your grace, Cas, here she is. What are you going to do about it?"

"Gabriel… I can't kill her," Castiel protested in dismay.

"Oh my god, I get the entire human bandwagon okay?" Gabriel huffed, and Castiel understood that Gabriel was thinking the work going to waste. "I completely forgot humans had their hang ups about these kinds of things that's now completely in _you!_"

The girl stepped forward and tugged on Castiel's hand, bringing his attention to her instead of Gabriel's hysterics. "Cas—siel?" she inferred his name from their conversation, adding the standard Hebrew word _el_ in his name, as most angels were named: for God. "What the Archangel Gabriel says is true. I will not die once I am in you. I am the 'you' that you've forgotten."

"What she said!" Gabriel shouted, although by now, Castiel was largely ignoring the archangel for observing this little girl: his grace brought to life.

"Commander Gabriel," she addressed the archangel. Gabriel gave her an irritated look. Most of the angels in the garrisons learned that Gabriel didn't like the hyper-militarized structure of Heaven. Gabriel was never one for rank or superiority and he always hated being reminded of it. "Let me take him to the mortals' heavens. He is mortal and he has been granted a soul. I can help him build a heaven there. Let me take him to say goodbye to his might-have-beens and his what-ifs. To the children he might have had if he'd persisted, to the story he could have had if he'd lived this life as a mortal."

Gabriel frowned as he regarded that question. "Won't the old pencil-pusher be looking for you?"

She looked up, her eyes unfocused then settled her eyes on Gabriel once more. "The ritual cleansing of fire shouldn't take place for a few more days. Cassiel is mortal, we could make Shehaqim run at the fastest possible time that he can muster. The Scribe is running in his own pocket of time because he wants to finish the entire _Wheel of Time_ in one sitting. He has the author here somewhere slaving away to give him the real ending. Besides, he's waiting for an ambush in Aravoth. We are beneath his concerns."

Gabriel blinked upon hearing Metatron's priorities. "I always knew that guy was a nerd. Candy and porn I understand, but a _book? _Knock yourself out, kiddo. I'm sure John Constantine here can take you out on your _Christmas Carol_ remake."

"It's not remotely close to Christmas," Castiel pointed out. "And I'm not sure this is a good idea. Dean still needs my help."

"See, the reason why you're going to third heaven is Dean," Gabriel reminded the younger angel. "You're going to let go of your hang ups with cannibalizing your grace _and_ burning your newly minted soul out."

"Besides, Shehaqim can run really, really fast if we need it to," the girl said reasonably. "We'll be finished before the commander flaps his wings."

"But—"

"Cassie, I do not appreciate the sudden reversal you're throwing at me! I was all game to forget about your grace when I was asking you to think about _yourself _for a change. Forgetting about it for a construct that's essentially _you _wasn't what I was aiming for!" Gabriel threw his hands in the air. "This stubborn ass isn't going to go there without someone dragging him. Go ahead. Go on a date. Make sure to bring me back candy. I love Shehaqim made candy, it's made of _dreams, _so the high is _indescribable__."_

The child smiled before opening the three pairs of wings that Castiel had been bestowed with before his grace had been stripped.

"Wait," Castiel said, tugging her back into the first circle. "If we are going to spend a significant amount of time together, I would ask for your name."

There was a smile on her lips. It was so very _human_ of him to ask it. A true name was potent enough that immortals never shared it, lest they be summoned and their will be used in spells. "I was not bestowed a name because I am you. But you may call me as the Scribe calls me: Charis."

Charis was one of the ancient words for grace. She hadn't given them a name, she had given them an epithet.

"Castiel, even your grace is literal," Gabriel huffed out in amusement before shaking his head at his brother. "Charis, Metatron must have mentioned the Caretaker to you. The only one that can rescind the lock on Heaven's doors."

"Yes. I remember," Charis answered meekly.

"The Caretaker is your priority over everything. Heaven cannot be locked for long," Gabriel pronounced.

Castiel nodded, because he understood the order and Charis echoed the movement. "Which is why I think—"

Gabriel held his hand up. "Cassie, you're the only other angel in Heaven. If you're really dead set on opening the Gates, I'd rather you even up the odds with Metatron, so I'd rather power you up with your grace. You being reluctant to get your grace, isn't helping. So yes, this little side trip is necessary. Charis is going to make it all fast so it's not a _complete waste of time_ and you are going to _stop arguing _and_ do it._"

Then Charis was lifting Castiel up and flying.

oOo

Charis and Castiel spent years in the third circle, in Castiel's heaven that wasn't.

Castiel managed a few years of good hunting with Kevin, before Kevin had an almost fatal accident with a demon. That incident helped Castiel decide to take the place of the archangel that was supposed to protect the prophet.

Castiel lived with Kevin for a long time, watching Kevin just as he had watched over Sam and Dean when they were his charges, albeit with less power and more reliance on his physical prowess. It had taken the former angel both effort and time to train Jimmy Novak's body and his own mind to stop relying on his absent grace and fight with the skills he had learned as a solider. It was something that he'd worked painstakingly hard on at the gym, training Jimmy's muscles to act before his mind could.

Kevin and Castiel restocked the Men of Letter's library, fortified it, and then called it home. On weekends, they drove up to Sam's and had picnics. In one of those intervening years, they found out Linda Tran had been kept alive by Crowley and saved her from a warehouse. The reunion was both bittersweet and painful.

It also prompted Kevin to look for an alternate life for himself. With the aid of Charlie's "creative hacking," Kevin finished college a little late with a major in Religious Studies. Castiel had followed Kevin at college by getting into Theology. Sam had been supportive, but mainly laughed the entire time, especially when Kevin finally hooked up with the girl that would end up being his wife.

They left hunting by becoming something like Bobby or Garth. They were in a unique situation where Castiel could translate any language and Kevin could whip up almost any spell that pertained to demons and angels.

In one of his trips for Theology, Castiel found Daphne Allen, his wife from when he'd been known as Emmanuel, whom he'd abandoned and forgotten because of his year long institutionalization after taking up Sam's version of crazy. They ended up talking and re-learning each other. Despite this, Castiel remained close to Kevin because he was now Kevin's protector and would never forgive himself if Kevin died before him. Daphne accepted that as one of his quirks.

Castiel watched as Kevin, Sam, and their wives had children and lived. Castiel and Daphne adopted Charis.

Charis filled his might-have-beens with moments of reconnecting with Sam, helping Kevin move out of the lifestyle, and slowly learning what it was to be human. It was a lifetime of made up memories that Charis had seen and shared with him.

But in Castiel's heart was the ache, the longing and knowledge that this wasn't real and that Dean was somewhere that needed him. Charis was still a child, beside him on his deathbed.

"This was selfish of me." Castiel hacked a cough. He hadn't thought he would reach such an old age. "I shouldn't have indulged in what was, in essence, a movie."

"You weren't ready to go, Cas," Charis explained, her head leaning on her folded arms, watching him carefully. "You wanted to fix things, to make everything better. You wanted to atone, but you didn't want to ask for it. You're scared that he isn't waiting for you."

"God has never waited for me." Castiel sighed in remorse.

"Not God," Charis said, one finger touching Castiel's wrist. "Dean."

There was a dull emptiness that twinged in the well of his memory when she said it. Forcefully forgotten in the echoes of this false reality, but no less important. "What do you know about Dean?"

"Enough to know that we've both met him and that he resonates within me," Charis whispered, her dark curls spread over the bed as she watched him in this slow death. Angels were never meant to die in protracted amounts of time; it was meant to be a blinding flash of the angel blade or the Rit Zien, their angelic healers. This human death was the agony of knowing that Castiel's body was failing him and he could do nothing. "I think it's time. Don't you want to meet Dean again?"

"All right," Castiel acquiesced. He'd had more than enough.

"I need a 'yes,' " Charis reminded him.

Castiel smiled, despite the cough and his wet lungs. Of course. How could he have forgotten? It seemed like a lifetime ago. It _was_ a lifetime ago. "Yes."

Castiel's mortal life ended as his angelic one began: as a bright light in the darkness, as a promise, a thought, while his humble niche in Shehaqim disintegrated for the lack of a mortal's dreams.


	13. Carrying of the Cross

**Chapter 13: Carrying the Cross**

Dean didn't think he'd be standing in front of Lucifer's Cage so soon. But there he was, facing the archangel again. Dean's ability to hit his head repeatedly against his own stupidity amazed even himself. Regardless of the Cage's bars between them, it was disconcerting.

Lucifer had opted to stay sitting in this visitation, having materialized a long ass Cleopatra couch. He leaned towards its side, head cradled within his folded arms while looking at Dean lazily.

Dean just bet Lucifer was a cat person.

"Are you coming to your senses and bargaining for something, Dean Winchester?" Lucifer asked, grin wide, and Dean felt the distinct shudder of fear run through him. Talking to Lucifer now felt like dealing with a predator playing with its prey. Lucifer smacked his lips. "The bargain is still the same, Dean: my freedom, for whatever the hell you want. And believe me, I can grant a lot of things."

Why couldn't he just deal with the less evil of brothers? Did he have to deal with bordering on insane Lucifer?

Lucifer gave a tutting sound. "Now, now, Dean. I've never been _evil_, just sorely misunderstood."

"Yeah, okay, rule number one: this here, is my personal mind-space, and you're not allowed in it." Dean motioned with his finger drawing a small circle around himself.

Lucifer raised his palms up in surrender. "Whatever you want, Winchester. And what is that, exactly?" He brought his hands together in anticipation.

"I want the string of Pharzuph, you extracting a pinprick of my blood, and your grace." Dean shrugged, as if to imply that the entire thing was rather easy. It was probably easy enough for Lucifer. Castiel had labored for it in a matter of days; Lucifer probably needn't be bothered for more than a few seconds.

"This tastes like a spell," Lucifer said slowly, sitting up to attention despite the lazy smile never leaving his face. "I can take the string, and since you're quite willing, I can manage the blood, but you can't take my grace without entering the Cage."

That wasn't happening any time soon. Castiel might have opened a crack and lifted Sam out of the Cage, Death might have relieved Lucifer of Sam's soul, but Dean wasn't anything close to power with those two beings. Entering the Cage would be more torture than staying in Hell for forty years. "No can do."

"Be reasonable," Lucifer snapped, standing up from the couch. "My grace cannot _leave_ this Cage; it's the definition of this prison. So either you come and pick it up or find something else to power your spell."

"Your wings then," Dean bargained.

Lucifer grimaced in distaste. "I shall grant you my feather. It should be enough for whatever idiotic plan you've got."

Well, an archangel's feather probably had the same amount of power as a seraph's grace. Power seemed to grow exponentially from one circle to the next in Heaven's hierarchy, so it would have to do. "What do you want?"

"What have I always wanted, Dean Winchester? The Apocalypse." Lucifer smiled, lifting up a goblet that he'd created and filled it with blood-red wine. "Freedom."

"That still ain't happening," Dean said, because there were some deals that he didn't ever mean to make. And that was one of them.

"Yes, yes, I know," Lucifer nodded in acknowledgement, swirling the goblet thoughtfully. "You do realize that you're missing the point of bargaining, yes? You named your price and I've accommodated it, then I name my price so that we can reach for compromise. You cannot tell me no after I'm willing to listen to your plight."

"There are some things I ain't willing to compromise on and the Apocalypse is one of them," Dean said, decision firm, arms crossed in his chest and resolute.

Lucifer shook his head. "You Righteous Men, there's no point in bargaining with you, is there? Not even for that little curiosity you brought here? How about if you promise to be reincarnated as my vessel in your next life?"

Another negative was already forming in his lips before Lucifer interrupted, "Remember, Dean, I still need your consent before I can truly posses you. You have been unwavering in this, the entire time. You are only promising to be reincarnated as a vessel; it will still be up to you to decide to accept me or not. With your rather obstinate talent to be stubborn, I am sure my work will be harder with you, rather than Sam. Furthermore, I am still inside this Cage, and I would need to be free of it to work on tempting you."

Sam, well if he can take out the burden of being a vessel from Sam that was just good all around right? And Dean _has_ held out on Michael this entire time, over _Dad_ even. "How do I know that all of this works, that this bargain would work?"

"Dean, I am an archangel." Lucifer sounded offended that Dean would even question him. "I am still bound to my word, especially here in Shehaqim. Besides, you get all of the things that you request _now. _I will get your promise in the unknown future when you do decide to get reincarnated. You get more out of this than I do, whereas I don't even know if you're planning to be reincarnated at all."

The angel did have a point. It was a sad day in Heaven when Lucifer started making sense. "Yeah, sure, quick question. Abbadon and Crowley are holding elections on who's gonna be the next King of Hell, who're you gonna vote for?"

Lucifer blinked at the non sequitur but answered all the same, "That should be easy: Crowley." Lucifer paused, waiting until he was sure that Dean's attention was on him. "Because I'd vote for someone whose ass is easier to kick into the next Apocalypse."

Dean laughed to cover the deep uneasy feeling that was permeating in his gut. But hey, he was backed into a corner. There was no way that he could get the Pharzuph or any fallen angel here in Heaven, and he couldn't access anyone's grace either. Metatron was a big fan of humanity, so he wasn't going to be able to be a substitute for the last ingredient, and Dean suspected Metatron was a tad less naïve and trusting than Cas was.

"Yeah, okay, you got a deal." The words still left a sour taste in Dean's mouth. "I promise to get reincarnated as your next vessel _if_ and _when_ I want to be reincarnated, if you get me the string of Pharzuph, a pinch of my blood, and one of your primary feathers, but _only_ if the spell works."

"Human, you sorely test my patience." Lucifer didn't shout, but he managed to connote fury in the tightness of his eyes, the stark brightness of the Cage and the sudden intense flickering of the Cage's bars. "It's not my problem if _you fuck up._"

"Yeah, well fuck you very much too," Dean retorted. _Dean,_ however, wasn't above shouting; and he was shouting plenty. "It's quality control. How the hell should I know if you got the right string? And besides I need your grace, not a fucking feather. How should I know if your lazy ass substitution is going to fucking work?"

There was a stretch of silence, with Dean wondering if Lucifer was going to take the bait or not. Lucifer had other chances to get gullible fools and he was practically forever. Dean only had Lucifer,that was saying something. Lucifer let out a predatory smile. "Do you still know how to get to the Cage in Raki'a—the second circle?" Lucifer waited for the nod before continuing, "I'll give you all you need once you're there. I'll even extract the blood there. I promise I won't leave anything nasty behind."

With that, the lines of the Cage collapsed and it was a gaping hole with the distinct netting over it again. Dean took a deep breath to steady himself. This was one of the dumbest things he had ever done in his life, ranking a close second to selling his soul, but before working with Crowley.

oOo

Dean discovered that getting to the second circle of Heaven was a lot easier than finding Lucifer's Cage. Raki'a still was a mess of prison cells that felt so close to a fucking maze that it had Dean's brain reeling. Dean took the first corridor, planted his hand on the wall, and kept turning right, even with the dead-ends. Dean's dad had always told him that if he put his hand against the wall, it's the wall he's following and not the hallway: he looked at it as a dented wall, not as a hallway with a dead-end.

It might have taken longer, but at least he knew that he wouldn't be doubling back, and that he'd be walking through all the corridors. He hoped that these cells were finite, rather than the third heaven's always expanding bull crap, because other wise, he'd be stuck there searching until god knows when.

It was close to a miracle then, when he started feeling the tingling sensation in his bones that he'd come to associate with Lucifer's Cage. That or he was getting gas again, and since it'd seriously been way too long since Dean had some decent food to begin with, he highly doubted it was that.

It was confirmed by Lucifer's annoyingly smug voice welcoming him with, "It took you long enough."

Dean flipped him off with an easy gesture, before standing in front of the Cage and eyeing the string that Lucifer was—of all things—playing cat's cradle with. It was blood-red and faintly glowing, tied around the smallest finger of Lucifer's right hand.

"That the string of Pharzuph?" Dean asked dubiously, because it was in him to doubt.

"One of many," Lucifer confirmed smile playing on his lips. "Tore it out of Seth and Maggie. It's rather red-string of fate-ish now that I've held it."

"Really, referencing angelic rom-coms to me?" Dean scoffed holding out his hand and Lucifer flicked his finger, the string flying out of the Cage and into Dean's waiting hand with the gesture.

"Your definition of rom-com needs improvement," Lucifer admonished. Dean decided against flipping him off again, because that would just be one fuck you's too many and decided to tell Lucifer where he could shove it with thought-speak. Lucifer seemed vastly amused at the thought. "Much as I'd like to regale you with the entire movie that's _your_ tragic life story waiting to happen, I do have to play fight with Michael again. He can't do anything in this Cage without me. So step up, give me access, and let's get this done."

Dean held out his arm, which Lucifer eyed in distaste. "Is there a problem with getting blood from this?" Dean demanded, because he's had enough of Lucifer's bull and he'd donated plenty of blood for spell-work, thank you very much.

"Blood is less potent from the vein. You _do_ want this spell to work, seeing as you've traded away your entire reincarnation for it, I assume?" Lucifer was all patience and smiles and Dean did not trust it one bit. "Besides, you're expecting me to extract something corporeal from your spiritual unit. I need room to flex my prowess. I need an artery."

Dean slapped his palm over his neck and glared at Lucifer. "There's no _fucking_ way I'm bearing my neck to you, so you can just kiss that thought good-bye."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, and then shrugged. "I could get it in other places." His eyes travelled to Dean's groin and stayed there. Dean suddenly felt like he had the hives. Lucifer ogling him was driving him crazy.

"Arm or no deal, asswipe," Dean demanded, sticking his arm as close to the Cage as he could manage. In the third heaven, the Cage barely allowed Lucifer to pass, in the second circle Lucifer could manage to let his fingers slip through. It did amaze Dean that Lucifer actually _wanted_ this deal.

"Yes, human, remind me how much _less_ I am getting in this deal so that I can renege. It's sorely tempting," Lucifer threatened before grabbing Dean's wrist and pulling it through the bars.

Dean had a moment of panic before he was struggling and trying to pull his arm back _out. _In the moment that his arm passed through the gaps in the bars of light, images of his arm returning to him hacked in pieces were bombarding his head. It was so much more disturbing when Lucifer lifted Dean's wrist to his mouth and Lucifer _sucked. _It renewed Dean's struggles to try and force his hand free until the fallen angel released Dean's wrist. Dean stumbled back as he stared at the perfect set of puncture points on his skin and realizing belatedly that it had fucking hurt.

He released a few more choice curses before he looked up to see Lucifer smiling and holding out a bottle of bright cherry red blood in his hands. "Properly typed and crossmatched, type Dean Winchester positive with a distinct flavor of—" Lucifer licked his lips in gusto. "—angelic longing? Vessel disease?"

"You crack me up sometimes," Dean muttered as he checked his wrist again, the bite marks already fading. "I _said_ a pinch! You a blood-sucker now?"

"Not even close. It's so _easy_ to get in your headspace, Dean, I couldn't resist." Lucifer shrugged nonchalantly, waving the bottle of Dean's blood in the air, mostly to taunt, but also to show Dean that he _did _have it. Extraction by weird ass angelic-vampire teeth. Dean repressed another shudder at the thought. "_More _is always better, I always say, and you have enough for a second batch."

Lucifer pushed the bottle out of the Cage, Dean still eyeing him shiftily. Lucifer reprimanded him, "Relax. We're two-thirds of the way through. So _distrustful_."

Dean was already regretting going through with this deal. He wanted to go immediately to the Tree of Life and just _bathe_ in the Falls. It might not clean out his soul of Lucifer, but it might give him some comfort.

Lucifer flared out his wings, all six pairs, and with burning, shining light that Dean was sure would have killed him if he was still corporeal. Dean was made to hold an archangel, but the Lightbringer was light personified and it was blinding. "You've never seen wings, have you?" Lucifer chuckled at the begrudging awe that Dean must be showing.

Lucifer got a hold of his largest wing, folded the wrist, and wrapped it around his torso so he could reach it better.

"I've seen Cas', dick," Dean retorted, unimpressed.

"And how was that, Cas' dick?" Lucifer asked in mild curiosity as he brushed through his feathers and hummed. He was straightening the feathers as he passed, moving over the primaries and the coverts as if wondering which, of all the feathers he had, he would give to Dean.

Dean snorted. "We're down to crude humor now?"

Lucifer paused stroking his greater primaries, a ghost of a smile in his face. "You just make it so _easy_, Dean."

Dean couldn't deny that he had really walked into that one. Still. "Get this: we're not friends. This here, it's not even a business partnership. I need things, you get it, and I pay you. It's a transaction." Dean's shoulders tensed as Lucifer eyed him over playing with his feathers, oddly intimate, and weirdly what Dean imagined angel-porn would look like. Not that he'd admit to imagining angel-porn _ever_.

Lucifer chose to ignore his outburst then settled on one of the largest and brightest of his primary feathers and tested its veins against his fingertips. "You haven't actually seen Castiel's wings. Even _these_ are not true wings, they are how your mind infers what in essence is grace and celestial intent built-in and contained into a three-dimensional sphere. Castiel probably showed you shadows of what they were. Had he shown them to you in truth you'd have been blinded. I'm sure your pretty green eyes have been with you up until your sad untimely death."

Which reminded Dean of the first time he and Cas met: Cas' true voice had made his ears bleed . But no, he wasn't interested in Angel Anatomy 101. Especially not from Lucifer. "Hurry it up. Sometime between now and before the next Apocalypse preferably. But mostly now."

"I could never understand what you see in _Castiel_," Lucifer sounded out the angel's name in distaste. "Father's little favorite. The little angel that fucking could. I've never seen him display much of a personality, he's never been particularly bright, and he has no super powers other than the occasional smiting of demon—and even that has been over used as a plot-device, not to mention outliving its usefulness since you've stumbled on leviathan. He's always needed _you_. He's a needy little worm, isn't he? Even this, opening the Gates, you're doing for _him. _He's even managed to get all the archangels attention on him at some point."

"What are you, a troll?" Dean spat out, and on some level, he understood that Lucifer was doing this to get a rise out of him. And wonders of wonders, it was _working_. Cas was _theirs_ because of his friendship; he's needed because he's family, _despite_ his flaws. It was something that Lucifer could never understand.

"Obviously, if I wanted naïve and clueless I would have gotten a puppy and choked it to death." Lucifer tugged on the large feather, a pearl dropped where the feather had loosened, and the wings disappeared all together. The instant the feather was free and in Lucifer's palm it glowed brightly, pulsing with light once before settling. Lucifer closed it in a fist and then slowly opened his fingers to show a bottle filled with what appeared to be thunderclouds, snow, and fog, if something like that can be forced in a small space and bottled.

Lucifer then flicked his finger again and the bottle flew from his care to Dean, who barely caught it with both hands. "You have what you came for, Dean Winchester. Now go do that silly spell of yours before your ingredients lose potency. I _will_ be waiting."

Dean couldn't get out of there fast enough.

oOo

Dean did end up bathing in the waterfalls under the Tree of Life. He needed Lucifer-decontamination because dealing with Lucifer three times in a row, twice of which without Michael as a buffer made him feel _dirty._

That and washing in the sparkling clear waters of the falls was _awesome._ He had learned that the falls distinguished between "Dean bathing there" and "Dean passing souls for reincarnation" before while he and Ash had been horsing around in the Garden.

It was still all kinds of awesome that the Tree gave in to most of Dean's wishes. The Garden molded itself to a beach with a high surf and big waves, when Dean asked for it. It was impressive as hell, but Dean usually settled on the botanical gardens. It was called a garden for a reason.

When that was done, Dean decided to find a space to cast the spell. He definitely wasn't going to do it in the Garden because anything that went awry in the Garden might harm the Tree and Dean wasn't willing to risk that.

So he ended up crafting a separate heaven from all the other heavens, making it self-contained and more like little sandbox where he could work. His very own craft-room; who would've thought?

It was easy to find the edge of the unknown plane of the third heaven. It was also surprisingly accessible, especially with the help of the Impala and a few of the Enochian sigils that Ash had once written down and left in the glove compartment of the Impala for easy reference.

After that, it had taken just a few minutes to imagine and then build up a small, demolish-able part of Heaven. Dean put together a sort of Stonehenge in the middle of a beaten path, just off the main road to stir up the ingredients. Once he finished making his sandbox, Dean left the Impala out on the interstate, which was doubling as Dean's axis mundi, and entered the cleared out space. The space was built with stone, sand, open air, and a small, stone workbench. He set down some of the things he whipped up and began to work on his little magic formula.

Dean rolled his fingers to conjure up chalk. He then meticulously copied down what Ash had given him while he was still recouping from Charis and Metatron. Ash had given him the Enochian words for purity and forgiveness. Dr. Badass threw in the word love because it was apparently the working theme for Metatron's Spell and it couldn't hurt.

Once the entire base for the spell-work was written down on the massive stones, he fashioned a large bowl made of iron. The hunter set the iron bowl on the stonework before lighting candles, all conjured out of nowhere and all working just fine.

He tugged out the string from his pocket and put it in the bowl, followed by a dollop of red blood. Dean rubbed a thumb over his wrist before he pulled out the shining snow globe that was Lucifer's feather slash grace.

Once he poured the ingredients into the mixing bowl, it literally snowed for a few moments on the concoction, before the entire thing froze, melted, then started swirling on its own, all with the same eerie light that Dean associated with grace.

Then it suddenly stopped, and all the ingredients fizzled down, evaporated until not a trace of the grace was left.

Dean stared at the mess that was the makeshift workroom, where he'd crafted this largely made-up spell. Sure, he understood that it was mostly done on the fly, last-minute and he didn't know what the hell he was doing, but he'd expected something flashier than the small fizzing of everything to nothing. It felt reminiscent of the time they'd mixed up stuff for The Killing of Dick Roman. (That still felt like a title of a sordid gothic penny novel)

He could feel the frantic beating of his heart, which was still a novelty, because dead and beating heart don't usually go hand in hand. It largely told him that he was nervous as fuck. He held his breath, waiting for a flicker, a light show, a sign from God—anything that would signify that his little scavenger hunt around heaven had worked—because the alternative was that he'd failed and that just wasn't an option.

He waited for as long as he could, until he dropped his head in defeat and had to admit that yes, it was another one for the failed record books. He gulped up the air that he didn't need, forcing even breaths to slowly calm his nerves.

Temporary set back then, because he couldn't take this as a loss and if there were Winchester words, "die trying" definitely fit the bill.

He swiped his hand against his hair and sighed before leaving the sizzling mess of nothing in the middle of the nameless highway in Heaven that suspiciously looked like I-90, cobbled together in its fake Stonehenge that Heaven was slowly reabsorbing, its function done. Dean walked to the Impala to take him back to his corner of Heaven, where he could sulk and lick his wounds.

It took him more than nine hours by guesstimate to return to his personal patch, and that was saying something for his state of mind, because, as Tessa pointed out, time was a variable in Heaven dependent on how much your soul can bear it.

By the time he was home, he was tired and needed to fall into the dreamless sleep of the dead. Although he didn't _need_ the shut-eye to work, he craved the rest. He'd just gone through an emotional bender, thank you very much, and he wanted a vacation. It'd just be his luck if Ash came up with something on his radio in a few hours.

As soon as he reached the lake, he ignored the clouds that were obscuring the sky; it was downcast and gloomy and not really conducive to anything but lying down, head buried under a pillow with comforters and a hot chocolate. Which was more reminiscent of Christmases before the fire that killed his mother, rather than the calm before storm but what the hell, right? It fit well with his mood and he just wanted to send a big shout out saying "fuck you" straight to Metatron because Heaven was made to be _something_, surely something more than this.

Well, on the bright side, he didn't have to hold up his bargain with Lucifer, because he obviously gave faulty string, or he'd tainted the blood, or those ingredients _just weren__'__t right_ and Lucifer had just ignored it.

He tensed up when he noticed someone was sitting on his harbor and what the fuck man? He had been assured that people who could actually travel between heavens was a rare trait.

It wasn't Ash' mullet hair and if Sam had died and gone straight to raise hell in Dean's heaven then he'd be a moose in Dean's chair. But though this person was unexpected, there was something overly familiar about the dark curls and the eerily still reflection.

Dean cautiously walked to his harbor, because unknown entities showing up in his corner of the world rarely meant good tidings. He winced when he stepped on a large branch, because seriously, his heaven was sabotaging his stealth and he checked the intruder.

His visitor was standing now, head cocked to the side in small inquiry, and Dean's mind had only been able to process the parts and not the whole. The perplexed knot of a wide forehead, hidden by thin eyebrows, roughly shaved stubble camouflaging perpetually chapped lips... and the deepest set of blue eyes shining with the unnatural light of grace.

Dean broke into a small smile, a ray of light filtered through the thin wisps of clouds covering his heaven. He tried to come up with something witty (or even dumb) to say, but ended up reaching out and assuring himself that yes, this was actually real and not really a hallucination borne out of an already fucked up day.

"Hello, Dean."


	14. The Proclamation of the Kingdom

**Chapter 14: The Proclamation of the Kingdom**

Castiel had expected Dean's heaven to be the lake house that Castiel had once intruded upon, what he hadn't expected was the lake house to open into the bunker. Castiel had thought it would be the white picket fence dream that he'd had with Lisa.

Castiel ran his fingers over the translation of what Dean referred to as _The Big Book of Heaven;_ it was mostly equivalent to an angel's spiritual dictionary. The translation was well done, although Castiel could find a couple mistakes as he perused it.

Dean handed Castiel a beer and dropped into the chair opposite the angel, popping the cap off with one of his rings. Castiel took a gulp of the bottle, despite not liking the taste, simply because Dean offered it to him.

"So what's all this I hear about you and Sam not getting along?" Dean asked, after they had settled. "You know, Sammy never stopped believing in you. He was even excited to find out you came back from Purgatory."

Castiel didn't have an answer that Dean would accept. Given a choice between Sam and Castiel, Dean would always choose Sam. Dean is, first and foremost, Sam's brother, more so than he was Castiel's friend, and Castiel respected that. Castiel found himself replying with, "Sam has stopped hunting, Dean, and we were too dissimilar. It wasn't that we weren't getting along, we just didn't have things to do together."

"Just, I dunno man, kick his butt for taking so long to propose to this Kaylee chick."

"I'll convey your dissatisfaction," Castiel promised. "Be it that I could do it now, but the Gates of Heaven are still locked. If I went, I would just succeed in locking myself out."

Dean tapped the open books in front of him, all of which look like it had been read through a couple of times over and marked with pages pertaining to Metatron and Aravoth. "Yeah, well, that ritual that we came up with didn't work."

Castiel's grace had powered Metatron's Spell, so his grace had been taken from him and then changed, as Lucifer's was changed when he fell. Unlike Lucifer, however, Charis had been purified again and again in the rivers of fire. Castiel stilled and looked on to the angels still scattered on the Earth, with the easy flick of power, seeing the thrum of their grace, the taint of the Fall, washed away. Their wings starting to mend, as they had not mended properly while Metatron's Spell had been in effect. "The counter-spell was enough for purification. Purification is separate from the Gates."

"How is that coming along?" Dean asked with a bit of impatience. "We still know diddly-squat about the Caretaker, and Michael says that's the only way the Gates are opening up. Especially since Michael is doing an entire rendition of _The Shawshank Redemption_."

"Oh," Castiel whispered, realizing that Dean has not been to Bobby's since Castiel gave him the prophecy. Taking a pen and one of the scattered pieces of paper, Castiel wrote down the prophecy again and showed it to Dean. "Maybe it's you."

Dean almost coughed out his beer through his nose, as it was, he still looked like he was choking on the liquid. "And _how_ did you get to that conclusion?"

"You are Michael's vessel, and he can open the Gates," Castiel started slowly.

"Being dickwad's prom dress doesn't give me a free-for-all pass in Heaven, Cas," Dean said incredulously, putting down the now empty bottle of beer on the table in favor of closing the books in front of him.

"Listen," Castiel said, starting to get excited over the idea. He angled the paper so that both he and Dean could see it pointing out the first line. "See here, if 'cast the lowest' means that you have been in Hell then 'ascending' could be that you've become Michael's vessel."

Dean still looked doubtful, but Castiel was convinced that he was looking at something plausible. "You can't _ignore_ the rest of the prophecy and just look at the stuff that fits."

"I just do not know what the rest of the prophecy means yet," Castiel answered defensively, fingers curling around the piece of paper. It was worth a try.

"Look, that means jack-squat right now if we can't get up to seventh heaven without Meta-troll finding out," Dean reminded Castiel, looking into the words. Knowing Dean, it would take concrete proof before he even thought about himself being the man of the prophecy.

"As long as we move before he misses Charis, then we should be fine." Castiel didn't know if it was his imagination, but he'd felt the small flutter of his wings moving restlessly.

"Wait, you know Charis?" Dean asked, picking up on that. He brought his hand up to the table, to show Castiel. "Ye high, completely literal, and toddles around Metatron?"

Castiel examined Charis's memories, woefully blank because of her ritual dipping into the River Rigyon, restoring her, but also burning her anew. "She has mentioned you. You've met her?" Castiel asked.

There was a conflicting series of expressions on Dean's face before it blanked out, a sure sign that Dean didn't want to talk about it. "Yeah, we've met."

Castiel gave a noncommittal sign, waiting to see if Dean would continue with his tale or not. He was supportive, without pressuring Dean to speak if he didn't want to. The silence stretched until Dean cleared his throat, the first to be uncomfortable in the silence. "Is she okay?"

Castiel pressed a fist to his chest, the only way that he could convey connection to his grace. There was a slight flicker of recognition in Dean that was gone in a moment. "She's home."

"Good man," Dean whispered, and even if the angel didn't know what it was for, Castiel could note faint regret in the tones.

oOo

They came to the Roadhouse for strategic planning before the final raid of the seventh heaven, or maybe it was a final goodbye to good-times, but that was just pathetic, so Dean settled with war room and left it at that.

Cas had promptly descended on by Ellen, as the last time they had seen each other was before Ellen's death. Besides, this was the group that they'd assembled before all hell broke loose on that monumental day that had caused Ellen and Jo's death. If Ellen had her death memories, then she was probably already worried enough about Dean and Cas entering Aravoth.

Dean had dropped down on one of the unoccupied tables, signaling for beer, which was promptly delivered by the third heaven's ability to instantly make anything for its particular heaven's inhabitant. It meant either Ellen, Jo, or Ash had seen him and sent a beer his way.

Drowning his liver with alcohol seemed to be the best thing to do the night before going up against dick-angels. His eyes landed on Castiel again and wondered if asking Ash to bust them into Vāstāyayana's heaven would finally fix Cas' problem with firing off some knuckle-children.

As if on cue, Gabriel appeared, sitting in front of Dean with a grimace and swiping one of the many bottles of beer off Dean's table and said, "Don't offer him that. Don't."

"Get your own!" Dean protested, though Gabriel had already gulped down a mouthful and grimaced in distaste. If Gabriel had swiped candy instead of Dean's goddamned beer, that wouldn't have been a problem. "And how the _hell_ are you even here? Locked Gates and all that?"

"I was Constantine's ride here," Gabriel explained nodding towards Castiel, although Gabriel's back was to the angel, Gabriel had known where to point. Castiel still hadn't noticed Gabriel's presence, either through Gabriel masking himself or because Ellen and Jo had Cas' complete attention. "Once you finished your little spell, this manifestation could travel a little farther than Vilon, so thank you for that. Still can't get beyond Shehaqim though."

"Still can't get the mouthful names of Heaven straight, and I have _no idea_ where Vilon is," Dean complained.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "They're seven names, what's the difference between remembering fifty states and seven names? Vilon, Raki'a, Shehaqim, Zebhul, Makhon, Ma'on, Aravoth. Keep up."

Dean should've felt insulted, but let it slide. "Missing out on the party then?" Dean hadn't decided if Gabriel was trust worthy or not yet, but it was better if it was just him and Cas that were going to go up against Metatron.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Gabriel groused. "Sooo back to my piece of advice—"

"Unwanted advice," Dean pointed out, because Gabriel and advice didn't really seem to go hand in hand. Dean still hadn't forgotten that the Trickster had killed him several times over in jest.

"Look at the way Bobby looks at Karen when no one is looking." Gabriel showed Dean, beer loose in his fingers motioning towards the couple with a small tip of his head so that it didn't draw attention. It was like Bobby's gruff visage had softened, the look was fond and obviously something more, something that Dean had known existed but never really touched. "Then look at Cassie looking at _you_."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows as he turned to look at Castiel, head tilted to the side and wondering. Gabriel must have made it so Cas didn't notice Dean turning to him or Gabriel's presence, because Cas's attention was still on Dean. Dean couldn't figure out what Gabriel wanted him to get from all of this and Gabriel was already shaking his head in disbelief. "He doesn't recognize what it is either." Dean didn't even know if Gabriel was referring to him or Cas when he said it.

Dean's heart was pounding, because maybe Dean did figure it out a little, even if he vehemently denied it. It was just that it was difficult to acknowledge, and he did not know what to do with the information. They were friends, and he knew the boundaries of that, but whatever Gabriel was showing him, it was too large for him, too difficult. "I can't, I just can't."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "No one's asking you to do anything. That child is going to be happy even with just your _companionship_. I'm just saying: whatever idiotic plan you have brewing—and I feel that you do because you wouldn't be Dean Winchester otherwise—don't make it about cloud-seeding this time."

Dean almost inhaled his beer, because he doubted Cas would tell _Gabriel_ that particular story. "You a voyeur now?" Dean demanded, because that memory had been private. Treasured even, because it was the first time he had laughed that way in a long time.

Gabriel completely ignored the question, in the way that people dismissed the unimportant. "His grace has been burnt clean in the fires of Rigyon. It shouldn't have remembered you, but it did. We—all of us—in our times of need, we cling to those that are most important to us. _You_ are important to _him_."

There was a story there, something that Gabriel wasn't telling him, because how the hell could grace have memory and thought. It stopped him from taking another gulp out of his bottle. Lucifer's words: _You__'__ve been gifted memory, child. _The odd gesture of Castiel fist pressed to his chest. "Charis?" It came out as a question when Dean had meant it as a statement.

"Got it in one, sunshine," Gabriel said with a small flash of a smile, tipping his beer in salute. Gabriel brought out his blade and handed it hilt first to Dean. "I'm currently stuck on Earth, everyone down there is a little bit less than _I_ am. So because you're important to dear old bro, I'm missing out on your Aravoth siege, _and_ I have no use for this; I'm lending it to you. Go get that douche Metatron for all of us."

Then in the next moment, with a flutter of wings and a blink of an eye, Gabriel was gone. Dean cursed as he stared at the empty spot the archangel had vacated. Yes, Dean was thankful for the weapon, but he could have done away with all the other things.

Was there anything worse than unsolicited advice? Probably unsolicited advice that would end up getting Dean killed, and in Dean's experience, his luck would carve him another grave in seventh heaven.

oOo

_Dean thought that planning on killing an amped up angel was a once in a lifetime event—sort of like living through the Apocalypse or clouds flooding the Grand Canyon—but apparently it was more like your wedding day. Extremely rare, but repeat over more often than wanted, especially if you fuck up.  
_

_So they had killed Lucifer and Raphael, now they were up in their elbows planning on killing Metatron amped up by the Word of God. Wasn__'__t that something special?_

"_You want to lure him in by pretending he__'__s the only one who could save quaint little Ouray, trap him in holy fire, and then kill him?" Cas repeated staring at everyone present in the war room. Sam, Kevin, and Dean shrugged in response. "I think it__'__s a bad idea."_

"_Metatron has a god-complex, saving Ouray will appeal to him," Sam pointed out._

"_That__'__s not really why I__'__m objecting to it," Cas said, worry showing in his face. Ouray was a small mountain town in Colorado, so small in fact that the population was exactly 1,000. It still had that turn-of-the-century picturesque charm that was sure to appeal to Metatron, it was also isolated, out-of-the-way, and cold._

"_So what is it you__'__re objecting to, Cas?" Dean asked, a little frustrated, because they__'__d been in the war room, fighting it over for more than an hour now. Sam was already getting the small roll on his lips that he usually got when he was frustrated _and_ annoyed, which was usually reserved for Dean. Dean knew there was a Monty Python quote for this, but he didn__'__t want to bring it up. "From where I__'__m standing, it__'__s a plan. Crowley and Abadouche, in their lousy bid for Hell, want Ouray. If we can go and tell that to Metatron, trap him and kill him, we__'__ve got one less souped-up being to deal with."_

"_I do not want to be in the middle of three insanely powerful beings fighting for a political future." Cas pointed at the Middle East in the spread out map and then looked at the three of them. "The last time that happened, the League of Nations drew up borders in the Ottoman empire without regard of ethnic, cultural, or religious beliefs."_

"_They__'__re not European colonizers, Cas," Kevin said._

"_We still need to save Ouray, and that isn__'__t happening on its own." Sam as always, was the voice of reason. That was what all of it boiled down to, despite this being a lousy plan, it was, nevertheless, a plan and better than going there half-assed without one._

"_Crowley, he__'__s partly human now isn__'__t he? Sam did a number on him, so he__'__s not one-hundred-percent. Cas and Kevin can take care of him, try to strike up a deal and if that doesn__'__t work Crowley is still looking for a prophet and Kevin is still bait. Sam will do the call Metatron ritual and explain to him what we want from him then trap him and kill him. I__'__m going to distract Abbadouche until you__'__ve all cleared."_

"_None of that explains how exactly we__'__re saving Ouray," __Cas protests._

"_We__'__ll come up with that on the way."_

oOo

Castiel and Dean set out for Aravoth after Dean had received everyone's well wishes. While Dean had needed Michael's keys and passage through the Tree of Life for Aravoth, Castiel only needed his wings.

Dean had protests about _difficulty in defecation_ after Castiel's mode of transport, but the hunter finally relented to flying when he realized that he had no other choice. He and Castiel landed in one of the Treasuries closest to the Throne. Castiel hadn't been in Aravoth since he and Raphael fought each other. Aravoth had been their Father's throne room; it was where all angels were received when their Father deemed them worthy to talk to him. It was the Seat of Judgment for mortals and the place of creation for angels.

"That still looks like a whole lot of walking, Cas," Dean noted squinting at the Throne, which was always visible at any point in Aravoth.

"It's the closest that I could safely fly without Metatron knowing," Castiel explained, picking one of the roads that lead out of the Treasury. Like the Garden in the second heaven, all roads in seventh heaven lead to the Throne.

"Not really," Metatron said, as he landed right in front of them. Castiel dropped his sword into his hand, eyeing Metatron. "Good try though."

Castiel turned back towards Dean quickly and laid fingers on his forehead, disregarding the surprised look Dean sent his way and projected Dean towards the Throne room before facing off with Metatron.

Castiel tried to lunge for Metatron to prevent him from following, but a sword came at him from behind. Castiel managed to swerve out of the way at the last moment, evading being hit, but missed Metatron completely.

With a jaunty wave of his hand Metatron was gone. Castiel opened his wings to follow but another jab near his wingspan held him back, forcing him to close his wings and regard his opponent.

Metatron gone, Castiel finally focused on Metatron's lieutenant, left to fight him in Aravoth. "Gadreel." Castiel fully drew his sword out of his sleeve and narrowing his eyes against his opponent.

After Kevin and Dean had successfully cast the angel out of Sam with the sigil Kevin had found for them, Castiel and Gadreel had faced each other a couple more times. Because Gadreel had known the Men of Letter's headquarters, it had forced Castiel—while he had been graceless—to reinforce the bunker against angels.

Luckily for Castiel, with Dean gone and Sam completely out of hunting, Gadreel mostly kept away from the Men of Letter's hideaway. Apparently, a prophet and a former angel of the Lord held no threats for Metatron's plans.

"Castiel," Gadreel acknowledged, his left leg leading, the point of his sword lowered in a deceptively open stance.

Gadreel was patience, and he'd been stuck in the second circle as a prisoner for thousands of years without anything to think of but getting out and fighting. Castiel, in contrast, had been in plenty of wars since the beginning of Original Sin. Gadreel had a longer reach, but maybe Castiel could win on speed and skill alone.

With that in mind, Castiel charged against Gadreel.

oOo

Dean had barely oriented himself to run towards the Throne, disregarding the burning churning rivers of fires surrounding the Throne, when Metatron appeared in front of him, sword raised high above his head, both threatening and surreal.

Metatron with his angel blade was unlike other angels with theirs. He was unwieldy with it, he was slow in using it, and it looked like he'd never held a blade before. But Metatron was strong, he was powerful, and most of all, could not be wounded fatally by Dean's own angel blade. Dean should know, he'd managed a few good hits in before the hunter had given up in attacking and just focused on reaching the Throne.

So while Dean had gotten more hits than misses with Metatron, Metatron had managed to hurt Dean more. A particular jab of Metatron's blade had landed on the right side of Dean's chest, and if he'd been corporeal, that would surely have collapsed his lung, effectively killing him. Apparently being a soul in seventh heaven had some perks, and not ending up as a brilliant white light of nothing counted as one.

However, Metatron's beating still showed on Dean, as if the bruises were on a physical body. It made Dean ache everywhere. Metatron loomed over Dean when the hunter, due to sheer pain, had collapsed on the floor, Dean's eyesight blacking out for several seconds.

"You never learn do you? How many times do I have to knife you for it to stick?" Metatron whined, his short sword clean despite it having poked a few holes on Dean's damned chest.

Dean had _no idea_ what Metatron was talking about, and it must have shown on Dean's face, because Metatron stomped his foot in frustration and asked, "You don't remember do you? You don't have your death memories."

Dean was bleeding and sore, in a place he hadn't expected to be bleeding and sore, staring at Metatron agape, because the only reason Metatron was winning was either through cheating or lying, and obviously he had done both. So Dean ignored Metatron, because apparently, he couldn't get _more_ dead than he was at the moment, and whatever Metatron was saying simply wasn't as important as trying to stay conscious and moving. _Self-preservation, I should really buy a couple of gallons of that somewhere. _Dean thought to himself.

Dean attempted to stand, but when that failed, he turned and twisted and moved by dragging his body through sheer will across the floors of the throne room to reach the Throne. He grit his teeth against the pain, and coming to terms that it was his soul bleeding and dripping all over the goddamned bridges of fire and the pure white marble that was seventh heaven's floor.

"I ended you, Dean Winchester," Metatron pronounced, proud and vile and self-satisfied. "I can end you _again._"

"_Really? This was your plan?" Metatron asked incredulously, looking around the circle of flames that Dean had sketched on the earth out of holy oil and fire. Metatron gave a disapproving shake of his head before squatting down and rubbing his hands together like he was going to warm himself._

_Metatron was wrong. Nothing, in fact, had gone according to plan. For some odd reason, everyone was doing everyone else__'__s tasks because Abaddon had taken the four of them by surprise and Crowley had been lurking. Sam had managed to get a one on one with Crowley and they were either talking feelings or killing each other while Cas and Kevin had ended up being the distraction for Abaddon with spells and sigils and Enochian chants._

_The jury was still out whether this was going to turn out all right._

_Dean was already tense and ready for a fight, eyeing Metatron speculatively through the ring of flame. "You never did learn how to tell a good story, did you?" Metatron asked.  
_

"_That__'__s your kink, stop passing it off," Dean muttered._

"_Well, I always had a better plan for you, but… waste not, right?" Metatron clapped his hands in glee, and in the next moment Dean felt excruciating pain in his abdomen, he felt bloated, weak and sick. It was worse than when he__'__d been stabbed—and he__'__d been stabbed plenty. "Aww, accelerated liver cancer, it__'__s all that drinking you__'__ve been doing. Face it, you__'__re bound to die that way sooner or later. I really, _really_ wanted to kill you by stabbing you, but that pained, yellow look suits you more."_

_Metatron rubbed his hands together one final time before blowing on the flames of the holy fire to extinguish it and flying towards Heaven._

No, it wasn't happening. Dean was already in Aravoth, damn it, and he was getting to that fucking Throne even if it obliterated his soul. This was the mission and there was nothing else.

Dean crawled up the steps, up to the Throne, so near, yet so brutally far. Dean was badly broken, but he was not defeated. Dean heard Castiel's blade crash against whoever his opponent was in the background of seventh heaven, thunder and lighting resounding in the otherwise eerily still silence of Aravoth.

When at last Dean had managed the steps, he deposited himself on the Throne. The hunter's blood soaked the golden seat, dripping over the souls that had been locked inside the treasury. Dean couldn't shout because his lungs were wet with blood, so instead he stared dully at Metatron before he whispered, "Damn it, Throne, come on and open up the Gates. Please." It had worked for the Tree of Life, and Dean couldn't find any reason for it not to work on the Throne as well.

At that, Metatron doubled over in laughter, waiting as nothing, _nothing_ was happened. It felt like the cold ashes of failure in front of Metatron's ridiculous hilarity over the attempt.

Metatron swallowed his laughter, walking forward in a slow stride. Dean couldn't call it stalking, because Metatron wouldn't know a proper stalk if it bit him in the ass. "Just because you stopped the Apocalypse, it seems you've been a little too aware of your own self-importance, haven't you, Winchester?" Metatron chided Dean, sneering all the way. "You think, just because you've been resurrected a few times, that _you__'__re_ a Pillar."

Dean coughed a few times and the sick wet rattle of blood in his lungs accompanied them. A pounding headache alerted him he'd been thoroughly thrashed by the geek secretary. Metatron spouted out other things that Dean couldn't be bothered with, because Metatron had just said something that made _sense._

Just as Dean was afraid that he was going to get knocked out of the fight because he couldn't take more damage, everything fell into place.

"He's even managed to get all the archangels attention on him at some point."

"He has been more things in creation than you!"

_For he who is cast the lowest, ascends the highest_

"His grace has been burnt clean in the fires of Rigyon."

_He shall be burned clean in thought, in spirit, in breath and in light._

"You think, just because you've resurrected a few times that you're a Pillar?"

_Dubbed as the final Pillar before the Throne of Glory. _

Dean's eyes widened as he sat on the Throne, Metatron's sneer directed at him. The Caretaker wasn't Dean. It had never been had never been about _Dean. _"Yeah, well I bet you'll never see this coming, then. Cas! Get your feathery ass down here!"

oOo

Castiel evaded one of Gadreel's lunges before turning to answer Dean's call, as he'd always tried to answer Dean in the past. Arm bleeding with grace through the gashes that Gadreel's blade had given him, Castiel took flight.

Castiel landed beside Dean on the Throne of Glory. Castiel took into account the state that Dean's soul was in, tattered as one could only be with a fight with an angel powered by the Word of God. Dean being solid and pure, was the Righteous Man, and therefore, one of the few that could pass through the rivers of Aravoth.

The rivers of fire crossed Aravoth in six planes; it's fires burning eternally to test men's integrity. Only those that were righteous and pure could stand before God and his Throne.

Gadreel landed in front of Metatron, a few seconds after Castiel. Though Dean had managed the spell to help the angels to heal, the wings of Metatron's lieutenant had still been damaged in the Fall, while Charis had kept Castiel's pristine. Castiel addressed the hunter, his eyes not leaving the other angels. "Dean, what can I do for you?"

Dean smiled despite his split and bloodied lip, eyes trained on Metatron and Gadreel as well before he said casually, "Care to open the Gates now, Mister Caretaker?"

"The Caretaker is a _myth_," Metatron scoffed eyes dancing in merriment. "I've written the Word and there's never been a Caretaker. Get off the Throne before you tarnish the gold irrevocably."

Ignoring the pronouncement, Dean reached for Castiel and pulled him closer until the angel was leaning towards the Throne and had to hold the side arms for balance. Castiel stilled, sensing something changing, the Throne warming underneath his hands. Heaven went still and held its breath, waiting.

Suddenly Castiel was before the Throne, rather than beside it. The four archangels _whole _in their regalia, bright and shining as it was before the First Fall, as it was before angels knew of jealousy, of envy, and of humans.

Castiel looked around and his brothers and sisters were singing beside him, in the hymnal that was Gloria. They were arranged by rank and their rank gave tone. The Throne was the center and built around it were circles that were the seraphim in the deep alto, the cherubim in the trebles and all the rest in the harmony of the spheres. They were all in flight, surrounding the Throne in all planes: like the rivers, so were the angels, six myriads above and below. They orbited the Throne atop the crown of the Tree of Life, singing in praise for their Father.

It was Heaven's eidolon of the past, but it was also happening in the present. Somehow, the archangels were seeing both Castiel when he had been freshly created and still malakhim when this Song had been sung. But they also seemed to know that he wasn't _only_ the malakhim they knew, but something more.

The Song dropped naturally and the four archangels took up the hymn. The archangels looked at them and sang the pure notes of the Trinity, the triangle completed despite there being four notes. It was a wave of _belonging_ that Castiel hadn't felt since before the Fall.

In that moment, Michael locked gazes with Castiel, amidst the sea of their brethren. Michael did not speak, for the Archistrategos was an angel of few words, but there was an acknowledgement in his gaze before he stepped aside showing the Throne in its emptiness. Lucifer mirrored Michael's stance, attention also on Castiel, as if knowing that Castiel quite wasn't of their time. Lucifer's gaze was steely in comparison.

Castiel's vision swam; he was alone, facing Raphael. Castiel was still staring on the Throne atop the Tree of Life; Raphael was there, all the powers of Heaven at his disposal. It was before the leviathan, before Purgatory, before the purge of Raphael's followers but after the oldest of them was locked in the Cage. The weapons forged by Virgil blocked Castiel's view. "This is Father's seat, from where He ruled, will rule again," Raphael said his blade shining, its tip pointed towards Castiel. "It is to be kept pure. Has its caretaker ever been up to the task?" Castiel remembered this before he was sent out, before the skirmishes with Raphael that seemed never to end.

Castiel was alone again, this time, seated on the Throne. He was seeing the expanse that was Aravoth: nothing and everything at the same time, empty in its infinity. The myriads of rivers were melted and raging; the coffers of the treasury were empty; the End of Days was approaching. Gabriel was beside him, the messenger's horn at the ready. "It's time to call everyone home, brother."

Finally, Castiel was beside the Throne again, wrist locked in Dean's hands, palms steadied at the Throne. It was the present, and maybe Castiel understood, maybe he understood a little. "Yes, I think it is time to call everyone home."

oOo

Dean didn't know what to watch out for when the Gates opened, but he didn't expect the unnatural stillness before there was sound of grinding stone and the prisons of the second circle rose in the middle of the throne room to enclose both Gadreel and Metatron in their personal jail cells.

Dean could hear Gadreel shouting in the background in protest against the walls that closed in. Once the joint was complete and closed, Gadreel slumped down against the wall. It reminded Dean of the time Metatron had been the one to lock Dean behind its bars.

"You won't keep me here, Castiel! I will get out of here in break that mangy dog you have." Metatron shouted. Dean objected—maybe he was a dog, but Dean was in no way mangy. "I still have—"

"The angel tablet?" Cas asked, as one part of the treetop changed into an office with a desktop and a typewriter, filled with books, though Dean got the feeling that it was another one of those quantum superpositions. That this wasn't really in the seventh heaven, but Castiel was bringing it up on the platform so Metatron could see.

Cas walked over the typewriter and lifted it, swiping the angel tablet and shattering it against the steps of the Throne. Dean could feel Metatron's wince.

"You just shattered the most powerful instrument in the history of the universe! And for what again?" Metatron protested, eyes riveted towards the tablet's broken pieces. "Oh, that's right. To save Dean Winchester? I mean you draped yourself in the flag of Heaven, but ultimately it was really about one human, right?"

Dean felt offended, yeah, he had been beaten close to death, but seriously, he could handle his own fights, thank you very much. Just because Metatron was a boss and was above his weight class, it didn't mean squat.

Cas ignored Metatron and the office dissolved back into the treetop. Cas was really on a roll, bending the seventh heaven to his will. In front of the prison that was Metatron's and Gadreel's, a soft spiral rose, forming out of the fire twisting and turning until it completed an arch. It was made of gold and pearl and was quite _awesome,_ if Dean had anything to say about it. "We've suffered enough, Metatron, don't you think? This civil war, bickering, and killing. Brother against brother, closing Heaven, it's already changed us enough."

"Yes, it builds _character._ Wasn't that what dear old Dad wanted for us?" Metatron scoffed. "If you think that they'll welcome you with open arms just because you've been prophesied by dear old Dad, you have another think coming. They're ungrateful _children.__"_

"Maybe, but they're Heaven's children," Cas answered.

"Just because you have the Throne, you're so full of it aren't you?" Metatron jeered against Castiel, his hands on the bars of his prison.

"I think that's where we differ, Scribe. You forget, I am a _caretaker;_ it's not really mine," Cas chided softly, with a flick of the wrist, Castiel opened the Gates of Heaven. "This family, it wasn't meant to be easy."

Gabriel was the first angel to appear once the Gates were open, flashing in with the sound of wings. Gabriel gave a toothy grin. "But it's what you've got, right, Cassie?"

oOo

Castiel had smoothed Aravoth to throw Raki'a back into place, while everybody settled into their former lives back in Heaven. Gabriel, as the only archangel present, was rallying them and ordering them about.

Hannah had approached Castiel again about leading them but Castiel had declined. Gabriel was an archangel, and Castiel had only ever wanted to be malakh. That was enough.

In the flurry of the new arrivals it had taken a while for Castiel to get back to Dean. Dean was seated on his chair, his fishing line taut in Shehaqim, just as Castiel had found him once upon a dream, a lifetime ago.

"Hey, Cas," Dean greeted while casting another line. "I thought you'd forgotten all about me, being this big Caretaker and all."

If Castiel had been prone to show his emotion easily, his eyebrows would have been raised in surprise. "I just settled everyone, Dean. Joshua and maybe a couple of dominions will probably push everyone around again."

"Dominions?" Dean asked and Castiel could almost see the wheels of his mind turning it over.

"It's part of the second circle of the angelic choir. Naomi was a dominion—a hashmalim in the old tongue," Cas explained. "It's in us to look for a higher authority. Gabriel coming back is really helpful."

Dean and Gabriel had never really gotten along, mostly because it was difficult to forgive someone who killed you over a hundred times like that. Still, Dean let that statement pass without comment. Dean was still radiating hurt all over, although Castiel had already taken care of the beating Dean took from Metatron. "Yeah, well, you know I'm just little old me, and they're family."

"Ah." Castiel said as he dropped down to sit on the harbor, while Dean was waiting for fish. Dean gave him an inquiring look until Cas gave his foot a reassuring pat. "They've been my family since I was created, Dean. But you, you're the family that I've chosen."

Castiel let that statement hang in the air before he said, "So how did you ever manage to get the String of Pharzuph? And the equivalent of my grace?" There was another long moment of silence, wherein Castiel got the dreaded feeling that it was an answer that he wouldn't necessarily like.

"I got it done, didn't I?" Dean said defensively. "Don't you trust me?"

It definitely was an answer that Castiel would take objection to. Dean was most defensive when he was wrong. Castiel hoped that there wouldn't be too much of a consequence. "I trust that you would do everything to finish your mission, even at the detriment of yourself."

Castiel even managed to catch Dean's wince before it flattened out to a stoic look. "Hey, don't be like that. This is a win. Heaven is open, you get to help Sam and Kevin again, and I can watch them up here, and wait. Who had the bright idea to make Heaven into little compartments anyway? If I wasn't _awesome,_ I wouldn't even be able to visit the other guys."

Castiel understood it as the evasion that it was, but let it slide. "It's difficult to grant you eternal happiness if it goes against someone else's idea of happiness."

"Yeah, I get that, but what about the circles, and all the levels of Heaven crap? It was exhausting," Dean groused.

"When my Father made Heaven, He built it as one sphere. Aravoth, named the highest, was just where He placed His Throne." Castiel threw a rock at the middle of the lake. Dean gave him a glare, and Castiel belatedly realized he'd probably scared the fish away. "When Lucifer Fell, He had to break Heaven apart, so that He could contain the Morning Star in his Cage. To be strong, the Cage must be _of_ Heaven; to be set apart so if Lucifer escapes he is contained in only a section of it, the Cage must be cut off from Heaven. Father wove Heaven around the Tree and Heaven became seven planes in one space."

"Quantum superposition, right?" Dean muttered.

Castiel gave Dean a smile before standing up. Dean reeled in the line and stowed the fishing rod away. "Why did you think it was me anyway?"

"You're the only angel to have a soul, Cas, the only angel to have been resurrected after being fallen. I dunno, it just made sense." Dean looked at Castiel for a moment before shaking his head. "That, and I was running out of ideas that would work."

Castiel barked out a laugh as they headed back to Dean's lake house. Castiel should have known. A star caught Castiel's eye in the horizon of Dean's heaven. Unassuming and small, but a reminder of the axis mundi that Castiel had abandoned. Despite knowing that he had given up his axis mundi, he was content in what he'd chosen.

"Hey, Cas, you coming?" Dean calls, already on the porch.

This wasn't going to be how they would be forever. Dean was still hiding something from him, Castiel had more responsibilities as the Caretaker, and Abaddon and Crowley were still at large. The angel turned away from the star and found Dean, hand on the doorknob, waiting. Cas smiled and replied, "Always."

* * *

**GLOSSARY **  
An excerpt from [Ash's] Dr. Badass's translation of  
_The Big Book of Heaven_

* * *

**THE CIRCLES of HEAVEN**

**First Circle  
Vilon (Curtain)  
**\- governed by the Archangel Gabriel  
\- the closest of the Heavenly Realms on Earth  
\- location of Castiel's original garrison, stationed there to watch over humanity.

**Second Circle  
Raki'a (Firmament)**  
\- governed by the Archangel Raphael and managed by Zachariah  
\- Heaven's prisons, the location of all indoctrination  
\- Naomi's office was located here.  
\- one of the locations where Lucifer's Cage is anchored.

**Third Circle  
Shehaqim (Clouds)**  
\- governed by [Gadreel] an angel whose name has been struck out since the first temptation of man, managed by Anahel (dimunitive: Anna)  
\- the mortal's realm in the afterlife.  
\- the central home of both the Garden and the Tree of Life.  
\- the visitation deck of Lucifer's Cage is located in its outskirts  
\- Azrael's garrison is located here.

**Fourth Circle  
Zebhul (Lofty Dwelling)**  
\- governed by the Archangel Michael  
\- contains the Temple and the Altar  
\- the location where all prayers to God are offered

**Fifth Heaven  
Makhon (Residence)**  
\- governed by Samael (sometimes named Azrael), a dark servant of The Lord, who takes the soul from the Reapers, and is the only angel who could hold a soul without marking it.  
\- contains the vault in the sky, the seat of all the angels  
\- contains the place of worship, of ishim who sing by night and are silent by day

**Sixth Heaven  
Ma'on (Dwelling)**  
\- governed by Sachiel  
\- home of the Irin Kadishin, the holy watchers  
\- location of the Treasury of Merits, where God observes and credits suffering and hardship in preparation for the seventh doorway.

**Seventh Heaven  
Aravoth (Highest Heaven)**  
\- governed by the Caretaker of the Throne, believed to be lost or a myth by most. It is attended by all archangels.  
\- holiest of all heavens  
\- contains the Throne if Glory, underneath the Throne is the Repository of Souls.  
\- home of the cherubim, the seraphim and the hayyoth

**Other Notable Places in Heaven:**  
**The Throne of Glory - **or simply, the Throne. God's Heavenly seat in Aravoth, where He presides  
**Rivers of Rigyon** \- Rivers of Fire in Aravoth, where all angels are made, where angels die and the righteous are tested and purified  
**The Tree of Life -**also known as the Tree of Souls. (cosmic axis, world axis, world pillar, columna cerului, center of the world, world tree) Is present in all spheres of Heaven, but was primarily built in the Garden of Eden on Shehaqim and where all spheres of Heaven were anchored.  
**Lucifer's Cage** \- or simply, the Cage. Was the reason why Heaven was broken into pieces, so that the Cage will be self-contained and could be present in two spheres. Contains 666 seals, only sixty-six of which need to be broken for its prisoners to be released. Present in Hell, Heaven, Earth and Purgatory although can only be easily accessible in Heaven as it is in the deepest darkest part of the ninth circle of Hell.

* * *

**THE ANGELIC CHOIR**

Composed of three circles, each circle with three orders

**First Circle**  
\- the ministers/messengers  
\- they oversee humanity  
1\. Principalities  
2\. Archangels  
3\. Malakhim

**Second Circle**  
\- "celestial"/ governors  
\- they are concerned with heavens and the stars/nature and the angels  
1\. Dominions  
2\. Virtues  
3\. Powers

**Third circle**  
\- the intellectual sphere/ counselors  
\- they are concerned with the worship of God  
1\. Seraphim  
2\. Cherubim  
3\. Thrones

* * *

**Seraphim**  
\- guardians to God's Throne  
\- known angels under this hierarchy: Zachariah, The archangels excepting Lucifer, Castiel after his second death

**Cherubim/Ophanim**  
\- guardians of the Tree of Life, God's record keeper  
\- known as cupid in the human's vernacular  
\- cupids in charge of love are of the third class.  
\- known angels under this hierarchy: Lucifer (first class), Gadreel (second class), Metatron

**Thrones/Ophanim/Bene Elohim**  
\- carries God's throne  
\- military, political, economic concerns  
\- known angels under this hierarchy

**Dominions/Hashmalim**  
\- oversees angels of the lower orders, they are angels of leadership and assign duties to all other angels and carry the commands of God  
\- known angels under this hierarchy: Naomi

**Virtues**  
\- inspires mankind, equal in power to the principalities  
\- they are involved with those who struggle with their faith  
\- known angels under this hierarchy: Joshua

**Powers/Authorities**  
\- keepers of history and bearers of conscience, warrior angels who are completely loyal to God  
\- concerned with births and deaths  
\- oversees the distribution of power on earth, and the first order created by God to prevent fallens angels from taking over the earth  
\- known angels under this hierarchy: Leilah, Gabriel, Michael

**Principalities/Sarim**  
\- keepers of the nations  
\- known angels under this hierarchy: Michael

**Archangels/sarim/Elohim**  
\- administrators to other heavenly beings  
\- guardians to the leaders of the world and prophets  
\- commands God's Host  
\- known angels under this hierarchy: Michael, Raphael, Lucifer, Gabriel

**Malakhim/Ishim**  
\- envoys between Heaven and earth  
\- celestial being closest to humans  
\- known angels under this hierarchy: Castiel, Ion, Rachel, Samandiriel

* * *

**ANGELIC MILITARY STRUCTURE**

**Flight**  
\- an eyrie unit, a group of seven angels, informally called "seven" or "proper seven"

**Garrison**  
\- ten flights, a complete soldier unit.  
\- represents all orders needed for a specific deployment, led by a captain who oversees other garrisons deployed under him.

**Host**  
\- the collective angels, complete in all hierarchies and rankings with the archistrategos at its helm.

**Mazzaloth**  
\- the largest tactical unit of the host, which has 30 chiefs, each chief with 30 legions, each legions with 30 leaders, each leaders with 30 captains, each captain with 365,000 stars

**Star** \- (informal/allegorical) angel

* * *

**End Notes:**

This was made for livejournal's deancasbigbang. If you want to see more destiel fics that are lengthy please follow the comm and read. There should be at least 5 fics posted per day until November 28. (And there have already been fics posted before me)

This will be a truncated author's notes. If you want an extended/intact author's notes with all the links, it will be found in my livejournal at ice-of-dreams. livejournal. com (without the spaces... these are the times I majorly, majorly hate FF.N and it's censorship. Scratch that, I've ALWAYS hated 's censorship. I was around at the time when FF.N didn't **care** if you linked out, had NC-17 and didn't mess with your formatting... so urgh. yeah my ID is 17,000 so was pretty early.)

Since this is a big bang, the cover art for this fic was made by the lovely **bluesyundertone**. livejournal. com Please take the time to see her art and comment. (if you don't have an LJ, crossposting/open ID or facebook and stuff/anonymous posting are allowed by LJ so drop by to say hi and leave comments for her work!)

This is my first ever Destiel fic, my first ever Supernatural fic and my first ever m/m (sorta) fic. So comments and criticisms are always welcome. Have pity with the rotten tomatoes tho. English is not my first language. Castiel and I share that in some ways, which is why I write Castiel better than I do all-American Dean.

This is also the reason why I had absolutely the WORST time getting a pre-reader, because I don't know anybody in fandom? So heya! you guys are my first ever fandom friends? Hahaha plus again thanks to the pre-readers that I did end up getting. You guys are the BESTEST.

So, I hope you guys realized how awful it would have been to end at chapter 13 and saw how wonderful my betas are XD. I wanted to write an entire arc for chapter 14 but simply didn't have time for it *sigh*

This fic happened because I really wanted to world build in Heaven and show how angels worked their grace in terms of spells and just angel mythos. Form there I wanted to work with Metatron's Spell, a whole lot of inspiration came off tumblr's drsilverfish's meta.

I would also like to thank youtube's ssom1216 for providing _Jus in Bello_ footage. Whenever I got stuck writing I would stop and listen to the con footage. I was in Creation's J2 Supernatural con in Vegas this year. I had a lot of fun guys. I just wish I had made more friends, hahaha I'm too quiet to be able to talk to total strangers. I have no idea how people do this interact with real people thing.

**Heaven's structure and the axis mundi.**  
While working on this someone asked me, well isn't Heaven really just a bunch of memories in Supernatural? Which is really where the world building comes in. What is explicitly stated in Supernatural is that there is no single Heaven. Cas says that each soul generates its own Heaven. (_The Man Who would be King_). There is also an axis mundi, which for Dean is a highway. [For Cas, in this fic, it's a star.] The axis mundi, will lead to the center of Heaven which is the Garden. Ash says that Heaven is a butt load of places crammed together (_Dark Side of the Moon_). Finally, Dorothy in _Slumber Party_ says that Heaven is "your dream life".

In this fic, all of that explicitly stated things run down into: there is an axis mundi, the axis mundi is a road from Earth to Heaven leading to the Garden, the road is littered with pitstops where you can experience memories (your Greatest Hits). At the END of the road, yes, there is the Garden, but there is also your personal Heaven (which is your Dream Life).

I was supposed to write a reincarnation fic for the Big Bang but ended up cannibalizing that one for this, so I hope people enjoyed it?

**Cas re: death and dying**  
I had a great deal of difficulty writing Cas's entire view of Dean and death. Dean might be dead, but Cas can just visit, nothing changes. Cas may be mortal _now_ but then Dean promised him Heaven of sorts. Of course, emotionally, Cas still clings to Dean despite what he's vehemently protesting: the prayers, the visits to the grave... But intellectually he's denying all of this because he knows he's going to meet up with Dean anyway.

**Gabriel in witness protection**  
Writing Gabriel in witness protection was one of the plans for this even before _Meta-fiction_ came out, so go fanon becoming sorta canon. hahaha.

**Dean's unreliable memory re: Spell.**  
I apologize for Dean's memory with regard to the Spell. I've tried very hard to show in the fic that Dean and his memories of his death, up to and including the Spell, is very choppy at most. So there were memories that were about the Spell that he obviously knew, and then he suddenly doesn't know and all that.

**Enochian in this fic**  
All the Enochian on Supernatural have been translated by livejournal's **monicawoe**. The rest of the Enochian on this fic was pieced together with several Enochian dictionaries.

**Cas and his prayers.**  
Cas's prayer to Dean at his headstone was _Eternal Rest_ or _Requiem Æternam_ which requests for God to grant eternal rest to souls, let perpetual light shine upon them, and let the souls rest in peace. It asks God to bring souls in Purgatory to Heaven.

_Requiem Aeternam dona eis, Domine  
R. et lux perpetua luceat eis:  
Requiescant in pace. R. Amen_  
(the R. means response)

is:  
Eternal rest, grant unto him, O Lord  
and let perpetual light shine upon him.  
May he rest in peace. Amen.

Cas's prayer when he was punishing himself was _I Confess_ or _Confiteor _in Latin.

The Latin Prayer was...  
Confíteor Deo omnipoténti, istis Sanctis et omnibus Sanctis et tibi frater  
quia peccavi in cogitatióne, in locutione, in pollutione mentis et corporis  
in opere, ó pere et omissióne: mea culpa

the English Translation of which is:  
I confess, to the Almighty God, and to you my brothers  
that I have greatly sinned in my thoughts, in my words, in purity of the mind and body  
in what I have done, and what I have failed to do: through my fault

This does cut off the end of the prayer that goes: therefore I ask, the Blessed ever-Virgin, all the angels and saints(sometimes they're named), and to you my brothers and sisters, to pray for me, to the Lord, our God. I promise to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life.

**Castiel and his language.**  
I'm not a native English language speaker. I do learn it in class in gradeschool(elementary) and it is used in legal languages in my country but the vernacular in my country is Filipino. That being said, I always viewed Cas as an ESL (English as a second language) speaker. For me, Cas is an awkward ESL speaker and I always think that ENOCHIAN is his first language and English is like his gazillion and one so that's what makes him socially awkward for Americans. Cas and I have more similarities in turns of phrase than Dean and I, which is why I write Cas-speak better.

**Chapter titles**  
The chapter titles are taken from the mysteries of the rosary. In LJ, the music are all songs with stars or heavenly bodies.

**Angel Lore.**  
References for the angel lore of this fic came from a mix of Kabbalah, Jewish and Christian mythos. I am Roman Catholic, so most (if not all) of the prayers here are Catholic.

However the angel mythos was dug up from _The Bible Study of Angels_ as well as _The Encyclopedia of Angels_ By Rosemary Guiley. Google books was especially helpful with the Tree of Life and all it's forms. I read the entire _Revelation_ for this fic as well, which is why all angels are referred to as stars.

In _Revelation_, angels are referred to as stars, which is why mostly they're stars and comets in this fic. Supernatural sorta also refers to them as stars and comets.

The angels' military structure was largely based on both military and battle tactics of Sparta, the Roman Empire, a large mishmash of make believe, and some from _The Life and Times of Jesus Messiah of Alfred Endersheim._

**The Tree of Life.**  
In Genesis, the Tree of Life is usually an ash tree or a fig tree...the fig is a very Biblical tree. (It is a twin to the Tree of Knowledge, also referred to as the Tree of Good and Evil is depicted as an apple in most western cultures, but is actually still a fig). I've always imagined for this fic for it to be a balete tree that's the Filipino term for the banyan tree, which is actually still a fig tree. The balete is really a mystical tree with a lot of lore surrounding it and if you watch _Grimm_, the episode about the _aswang_ (Season 3x14: _Mommy Dearest_)? The tree that _aswang_ supposedly live in are balete trees. I really love the structure of the trunk and **bluesyundertone** did a spectacular job.

In the Philippines there are a lot of really old balete trees and there are even some balete trees that have some springs mysteriously bubbling up from their roots, which is what gave the imagery for Vilon's Tree of Life. The balete tree is also hollow inside. It's a type of strangler fig so once the tree it strangles dies, the inside is really hollow, which is why there can be aswang and the like living in it and springs bubbling from it.

**burning bodies**  
Three independent betas asked me why I was digging a grave if I was salting and burning the body? I just wanted to say: if the corpse was a demon or like 20,000 year old bones, then if can establish in my mind that yes, it's going to burn to ash immediately. However, normal bodies, like witches, (which Dean, Cas and Sam were burying in this fic) as well as hunter funerals need a grave after salting and burning.

Modern funeral homes which stick bodies in urns use industrial furnaces using thousands of degrees Farenheight. Sometimes they also have high pressures in these crematory and even in crematoriums they are not ash after they are burned, the body still has bone and that is pulverized. In eastern countries (Japan) the bones are not pulverized, (there's an etiquette story with chopsticks and passing food here, but that's for another time).

If you see like really bad burn victims in flaming houses that never got out? You'll see like a big black char of a person, they're not ash, they're blackened on the outside and still whole. Sooo... After salting and burning they need graves. Besides, whenever Sam and Dean salt and burn bodies they're mostly still standing over graves.

**Season 10 ep1 related rant** skip if you haven't seen season 10 ep 1 and you're particular about knowing those things ahead of time? But I don't think it's too spoilery.

Who here absolutely HATES the season storyline for Cas? Urg, I am a Cas fan, really. And they stuck him with a lot of boring angels... Like Hannah. Why couldn't Cas have some buddy time with Sam? I mean if Sam was so sad and didn't want to bother Cas because of the failing grace and all that why **couldn't** he stay in the bunker?

**Finally, a major rant:**

On the History of the Handshake  
One of the frustrating things I had with season 9 is the entire Dean swiping Gadreel with the First Blade after a handshake. That scene took place after I wrote a non-handshake scene between Nathaniel and Castiel. One of the back stories of the handshake includes: that it was your opponent feeling you up to your elbows to check if you were armed. Sooo Dean offering a non-dominant hand? TOTALLY iffy. *sigh*

Oh, oh and one of the things that had me rolling over **laughing** so hard was this little snippet I read in the Book of Enoch:

_And he[Metatron] answered: "I am Enoch the son of Jared, thy father's father."_

So yeah, apparently, Jared is a Biblical/Hebrew name, and he's the father of Metatron. Who'd have thunk?

Thanks for reading! Comments, criticisms welcome!

iCe signing off.

PS. For those following my avatar AU, yes, you guessed it, this is what hijacked that fic's progress.


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